LONG 
STRAIGHT 
ROAD 


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THE  LONG 
STRAIGHT  ROAD 


Why  Dolly,  how  young 
yop  look  ! 


THE  LONG 

STRAIGHT 

ROAD 

By  GEORGE  HORTON 


"  Times  are  changed  with  him  who  marries; 
there  are  no  more  by-path  meadows,  where  you 
may  innocently  linger,  but  the  road  lies  long  and 
straight  and  dusty  to  the  grave." 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  TROY  AND 
MARGARET  WEST  KINNEY 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOWEN-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1902 
THE  BOWEN-MERRILL  COMPANY 


SEPTEMBER 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  A  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


TO 

CHARLES  E.  RUSSELL 

POET,  GENTLEMAN,  FRIEND 


2136435 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTHR  PAGE 

I    A  LITTLE  SUPPER  1 

II    IMPARTIAL  ADVICE  26 

III  BEHIND  THE  SCENES  40 

IV  APRIL  HOPES  51 
V    ASSURANCE  AT  LEAST  68 

VI    A  MATCHMAKING  67 

VII    THE  DIE  IS  CAST  89 

VIII    THE  LAND  OF  DESIRE  94 

IX    A  HOME  GARDEN  107 

X    A  MISCALCULATION  115 

XI    CULTURE  IN  A  FLAT  126 

XII    A  STEIN  ON  THE  TABLE  137 

XIII  AT  THE  PIERIAN  SPRING  151 

XIV  ABOUT  MEN  AND  HORSES  166 
XV    THE  CORRECT  MAN  185 

XVI    ACCORDING  TO  SCHEDULE  208 

XVII    A  CHAT  WITH  A  CYNIC  209 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  *AGE 

XVIII    THE  CITY  FATHERS  225 

XIX    THE  HEART  OF  THE  CYNIC  289 

XX    A  GERMAN  CHRISTMAS  254 

XXI    ANOTHER  CALCULATION  270 

XXII    A  RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE  287 

XXIII  PRIMITIVE  METHODS  295 

XXIV  MISCHIEF  IN  A  LETTER  806 
XXV    ONE  SORT  OF  POET  816 

XXVI    A  LOTHARIO  OF  FIFTY  826 

XXVII    ANOTHER  SORT  OF  POET  839 

XXVIII    THE  HAPPIEST  MAN  848 

XXIX    THE  TRUMPET  NARCISSUS  855 

XXX    HIS  ONE  CHANCE  862 

XXXI    A  CLEAN  RECORD  878 

XXXII    A  CRUCIAL  MOMENT  879 

XXXIII    MY  CUP  RUNNETH  OVER  888 


THE  LONG 
STRAIGHT  ROAD 


THE  LONG  STRAIGHT  ROAD 

CHAPTER  I 

A  LITTLE   SUPPER 

A  young  man  stood  at  the  intersection  of  South 
Water  and  State  Streets,  looking  west.  His  hands 
were  in  the  pockets  of  his  raglan  coat,  and  there 
was  an  American  cigarette  in  his  mouth.  He  was  a 
product  of  city  life,  and  of  large  city  life  at  that, 
and  he  had  become  accustomed  to  seeing  the  world 
through  clouds  of  soft-coal  smoke.  His  visual 
nerves,  moreover,  were  dulled  by  the  fierce  impact 
of  electric  light,  by  which  his  office  was  illuminated, 
even  through  many  hours  of  the  day,  and  he  was 
therefore  almost  blind  to  those  revelations  of  nature 
which  show  that  she  is  yearning  over  her  lost  chil- 
dren of  the  cities.  He  was  looking  with  but  a 
vague  sense  of  wonder  and  awe  at  a  picture  worthy 
the  pen  of  a  Dante  or  the  brush  of  a  Turner. 

About  him  in  all  directions  save  one  towered  the 
great,  grim,  implacable  city,  graying  and  chilling 
beneath  the*  wing  of  descending  night.  Countless 
l 


2         THE  LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

tall  plumes  of  smoke,  black  at  the  base  and  blue- 
gray  in  the  feather,  swayed  and  nodded  in  the  wind 
upon  the  roofs  of  buildings.  Every  few  moments, 
when  the  breeze  swooped  downward,  they  fluttered 
to  the  street  and  sifted  the  air  full  of  grimy  dust. 
The  whole  effect  was  titanic,  sulphurous,  pluto- 
nian.  Electric  lights  gleamed  fiercely  through  the 
shifting  vapors  as  coals  might  glow  in  the  smoke  of 
hell.  The  Masonic  Temple  lifted  its  lean  stories  to 
the  sky  as  though  it  were  a  great  rock  pitted  with 
little  holes  and  tunnels  and  caverns  for  the  dwellers 
of  the  air.  As  the  lights  were  turned  on  sporadically 
over  its  vast  surface,  one  imagined,  if  he  were 
blessed  with  the  power  of  imagination,  that  a  hun- 
dred prehistoric  men  were  blowing  the  embers 
of  their  smoldering  fires.  Or,  if  his  mind  ran 
farther  back  to  the  old,  gloomy,  gigantic  days  of  so- 
called  heathen  mythology,  he  saw  there  Prome- 
theus indeed,  chained  to  the  rock  by  man's  Jovian 
intellect.  And  with  all  this  impression  of  vast- 
ness  and  power  and  loneliness,  which  the  spirit  of 
man  feels  in  the  heart  of  the  great  city  as  strongly 
as  on  a  mountain  top,  there  was  blended  the  leaven 
of  modernity  and  of  progress.  Yonder,  high"  above 
the  heads  of  the  pedestrians  in  State  Street,  th~e  cars 
of  the  Metropolitan  "L"  darted  east  and  west 
through  a  tunnel  of  glass,  invisible,  save  for  the 


A  LITTLE   SUPPER  3 

lights  with  which  they  ran  to  and  fro  as  with 
torches. 

South  Water  Street  was  a  long,  narrow  gorge, 
as  lifeless  and  desolate  at  this  hour  as  the  bed  of  a 
lost  river.  It  seemed  a  squalid  hallway,  upon 
whose  walls  of  red  brick  the  disused  awnings  were 
spread  like  frayed  and  dirty  cobwebs.  Homing 
carts  rattled  by  over  the  cobble  stones,  and  two  or 
three  belated  market  wagons  were  backed  against 
the  curb.  A  few  broken  barrels  and  as  many  piles 
of  boxes  added  to  tHe  ugliness  of  the  vista,  which 
was  not  improved  by  an  occasional  Heap  of  refuse. 
All  this  was  of  man's  'doing,  this  chaining  o'f  Pro- 
metheus, this  building  of  gorges  for  the  rivers  of 
humanity,  of  which  we  are  but  drops  that  pass  and 
come  no  more  forever;  even  the  pall  of  smoke,  en- 
shrouding the  lofty  buildings  until  they  were  trans- 
formed into  the  towers  and  battlements  of  some 
great  capital  of  Dis,  was  vomited  forth  from  a 
thousand  fires  that  were  doing  th'e  will  of  man. 
The  grimness,  the  weight,  th'e  relentless  usefulness 
of  it  all  were  of  his  invention.  Nay,  he  had  even 
gone  further  and  added  a  few  toucKes  to  the  sun- 
set just  now  fading  from  the  foot  of  SoutK  Water 
Street.  As  the  young  man  had  walked  briskly  nortK 
on  State,  he  Had  glanced  westward  down  Washing- 
ton, Randolph',  Lake. 


4         THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

In  each  instance  the  sun  was  setting  so  squarely 
at  the  foot  of  the  street  that  the  fiery  red  disk 
seemed  about  to  slide  down  and  across  the  narrow 
way  and  to  close  it  like  a  gate.  Now  it  lost  shape 
in  a  cloud  of  smoke,  which  it  was  pouring  full  of 
lurid  glory,  as  though  it  were  blazing  in  the  heart 
of  its  own  vapor,  caused  by  an  ineffectual  attempt 
at  quenching.  This  spectacle,  too,  was  plutonic, 
and  its  vast  and  gloomy  majesty  harmonized  well 
with  its  foreground. 

The  very  modern  young  man  whose  unseeing 
eyes  were  taking  in  the  city  with  no  other  thought 
than  the  trite  reflection  that  the  Masonic  Temple 
was  a  "sky-scraper,"  and  an  associative  wonder  as 
to  whether  the  "Girl  with  the  Auburn  Hair"  was 
there  this  week  or  not,  felt  indeed  a  vague  uplift- 
ing as  he  gazed  upon  that  celestial  conflagration  at 
the  foot  of  South'  Water  Street.  But  the  emotion 
was  fleeting.  Taking  a  handsome,  open-face  watch 
from  his  pocket,  he  glanced  at  it,  muttering,  "Quar- 
ter of  six.  I'm  a  quarter  of  an  hour  early.  How 
did  that  happen,  I  wonder?"  For  five  minutes  he 
tramped  a  sKort  beat  on  the  sloppy  walk,  stamping 
to  keep  his  feet  warm.  But  his  coat,  though  fash- 
ionable, was  not  very  thick,  and  his  brown  fedora 
offered  no  protection  to  his  ears;  for  it  was  the 
twenty-seventh  day  of  February,  and  the  walk  was 


A   LITTLE   SUPPER  5 

fringed  with  a  mound  of  dirty  snow.  Aj  he 
walked,  he  hummed  softly  the  air  of  "Get  Your 
Money's  Worth." 

Toward  the  north,  the  most  conspicuous  object 
was  an  enormous,  upright  box,  towering  blackly 
against  a  sky  that  now  caught  a  faint  flush  of  dark 
red  from  the  east.  This  was  a  grain  elevator ;  and 
he  wondered,  in  his  subconscious  efforts  to  pass 
the  time,  whether  or  not  it  was  higher  than  the 
Masonic  Temple.  After  making  about  twenty 
turns,  occupying,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  the  space  of 
an  hour,  he  again  took  out  his  watch,  and  discov- 
ered that  only  five  minutes  had  passed  away.  Thus 
does  time  crawl  when  one  is  waiting.  TKe  feeling 
that  he  was  getting  chilly,  perhaps  catching  cold, 
was  gradually  asserting  itself.  It  became  a  con- 
viction when  his  eyes  chanced  to  light  upon  the 
sign  of  a  steamboat  company  advertising  cheap  ex- 
cursions to  summer  resorts,  to  Macatawa  Park  and 
Ottawa  Beach.  A  saloon  on  the  opposite  corner, 
whose  windows  were  gaudy  with  circles  and  other 
figures  in  colored  glass,  attracted  his  attention. 

"I'll  take  a  hot  scotch  while  I'm  waiting,"  he 
soliloquized.  Crossing  the  street,  he  ordered  the 
drink.  The  place  was  deliciously  warm,  and  a 
negro  in  a  white  jacket  was  just  lifting  a  brightly- 
polished  brass  cover  from  a  pot  that  contained  some- 


6          THE  LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

thing  that  smoked  and  emitted  an  appetizing  smell. 
Two  or  three  nondescripts  were  standing  about  the 
place,  and  a  stout  woman  with  red  cheeks,  a  big 
nose  and  bold  eyes,  looked  out  at  him  from  a  little 
room  where  she  was  sitting  at  a  table.  She  wore 
a  seal  coat  and  a  large  hat  trimmed  with  red  flowers. 
The  young  man  glanced  at  her  with  the  good-na- 
tured yet  not  encouraging  look  of  the  experienced 
person  who  is  so  sure  of  his  ground  th'at  he  is  not 
afraid  to  be  friendly.  As  he  cooled  his  scotch  with 
the  little  spoon  and  sipped  it  slowly,  he  addressed 
a  remark  or  two  to  the  barkeeper  with  so  much 
good-fellowship  that  pleasant  relations  were  imme- 
diately established.  Two  or  three  times  he  went  to 
the  door  and  looked  out. 

"I've  got  a  date  with"  a  friend,"  he  explained. 
"I  was  to  meet  him  at  six  o'clock  at  the  corner  of 
State  and  South  Water." 

"Him  ?"  laughed  the  barkeeper. 

"Him?— Oh,  ha!  ha!  I'm  on  now.  Sure  thing. 
Friend  of  mine — we're  going  over  the  bridge  to- 
gether to  Ma'am  Galli's  to  have  dinner.  Ever 
been?" 

"Ma'am  Galli's  ?  Seems  to  me  I've  heard  of  the 
place.  It's  that  I-talian  restaurant,  ain't  it?" 

"Yes,  that's  it — the  only  place  in  town  to  get 


A   LITTLE   SUPPER  7 

spaghetti.  Cook  it  just  as  they  do  in  Italy — sort  of 
a  Bohemian  place." 

"Bohemian?  I  thought  it  was  I-talian,"  replied 
the  barkeeper. 

The  young  man  looked  out  of  the  door  again  and, 
calling,  "There's  my  friend  now — so  long/'  went 
into  the  street. 

It  was  typical  of  the  city's  spirit  that  neither 
the  barkeeper  nor  the  negro  looked  after  him  to 
see  whether  or  not  he  had  been  waiting  for  a  man. 
In  a  country  town  every  person  in  the  place  would 
have  been  agog  with  curiosity ;  but  here  nobody 
cared.  Harry  Chapin,  employed  in  Blodgett  & 
Blodgett's  real  estate  office,  had  indeed  an  engage- 
ment to  take  dinner  at  Ma'am  Galli's  with  Edward 
Crissey,  lawyer.  The  latter  came  walking  briskly 
down  the  street  now,  holding  his  head  high  and 
throwing  out  his  athlete's  chest. 

"Hello,  old  man,"  he  called  as  he  espied  Chapin 
hastening  toward  him;  "been  taking  an  appetizer? 
You  should  have  waited  till  we  got  over  to  the 
madam's,  where  you  could  have  got  something 
good — if  all  you  tell  me  about  the  place  is  true." 

The  men  were  walking  north  now  together. 

"I  was  taking  a  hot  scotch,"  explained  Chapin. 
"I  got  here  a  quarter  of  an  hour  early  and  came 


8          THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

near  getting  chilled  through.  I  saw  the  sun  set, 
though,  right  at  the  foot  of  South  Water  Street. 
It  looked  exactly  like  a  fire.  It  seemed  as  though 
you  could  have  sent  an  engine  right  down  to  it." 

They  were  on  the  bridge  now,  and  both  invol- 
untarily glanced  down  the  river,  flowing  in  the 
bed  of  a  canon  whose  walls  were  the  faces  of  dark 
red  buildings.  The  air  was  a  bluish  gray,  almost 
black.  There  was  a  red  glow  in  the  west,  faint 
but  angry. 

"Look's  cold,  doesn't  it?"  observed  Crissey,  point- 
ing to  the  surface  of  the  river,  where  blocks  of  blue- 
gray  ice  were  floating.  The  waters  were  the  color 
of  absinthe  after  dilution.  Sailing  craft  of  all  sizes 
were  tied  to  the  wharf,  and  a  steamer  or  two  was 
frozen  fast.  The  masts  looked  like  trunks  of  dead 
trees  in  a  frozen  world. 

"That's  a  great  ad,"  observed  Chapin,  pointing 
to  an  electric  sign  that  blazed  far  off  at  the  right 
against  the  sky  as  though  it  were  the  wall  of 
Nebuchadnezzar's  palace.  Alas!  there  was  no 
sublimity  written  by  the  finger  of  God  there.  Every 
night  that  sign  blazes  out  as  inevitably  as  a  galaxy 
of  stars,  spelling  the  name  of  a  famous  brand  of 
cider. 

"It  isn't  a  marker  to  that,  though,"  responded  the 
lawyer,  indicating  a  board  that  swayed  and  creaked 


A   LITTLE    SUPPER  9 

over  the  door  of  a  red  brick  saloon.  The  board  dis- 
played the  legend,  "A  raw  or  boiled  egg  with  every 
drink." 

"Uh,  it  takes  my  appetite  away,"  exclaimed 
Chapin.  They  were  in  the  region  of  "home"  res- 
taurants, where  dinner  was  always  "now  ready," 
and  of  fifteen-cent  eating  houses.  Turning  down 
a  side  street,  they  came  to  a  gloomy-looking  brick 
house,  into  the  door  of  which  Chapin  turned  and 
bounded  up  the  steps  with  the  sureness  of  famil- 
iarity. 

"Where  you  taking  me,  old  man  ?"  asked  Crissey. 
"This  is  no  restaurant." 

Chapin  twisted  a  silver  knob  in  the  middle  of  the 
door,  and  a  bell  rang  on  the  inside. 

"Ma'am  Galli  doesn't  dare  put  a  sign  out,"  he 
explained.  "She  has  more  people  than  she  can 
feed  as  it  is." 

A  thin-faced  waiter  with  red  eyes  and  a  mustache 
resembling  a  worn-out  toothbrush,  and  wearing  a 
dirty  apron,  opened  the  door  wide  enough  to  make 
a  little  crack,  into  which  he  put  his  nose. 

"Did  you  telephone?"  he  asked.  Then,  as  soon 
as  he  recognized  Chapin,  he  threw  the  door  wide, 
crying,  "Oh,  Mr.  Chapin,  come  een !  This  ees  your 
friend?" 

"Sure  thing!    Where's  our  seats,  Cfiito?" 


io        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"Right  here,  reserved.  Right  where  you  sat  the 
last  time." 

While  he  was  taking  off  his  coat,  Crissey  glanced 
about  with  keen,  dark  eyes,  alert  with  mingled 
curiosity  and  amusement.  He  was  in  the  rear  room 
of  what  had  once  been  large  double  parlors.  The 
sliding  doors  were  now  removed,  making  one  long 
hall  of  respectable  size.  In  each  room  was  a  table 
capable  of  seating  thirty-five  or  forty  people.  The 
covers  were  already  laid,  and  nearly  all  the  chairs 
were  turned  about,  showing  that  the  seats  were 
reserved.  Some  hooks  for  coats,  a  sideboard,  a 
dilapidated  lounge,  and  a  new  piano  constituted  the 
entire  furnishing  of  the  restaurant,  which  was  dimly 
lighted,  and  warmed  by  means  of  two  fireplaces. 
The  curtains  at  the  windows  were  dingy  from  the 
soft-coal  smoke,  but  the  open  fires  and  the  heaping 
dishes  of  apples,  bananas  and  oranges  upon  the 
white  table-cloths  gave  the  place  a  cheerful  look. 

"Isn't  this  the  stuff?"  said  Ch'apin  cheerfully  as 
he  returned  from  hanging  up  the  coats. 

"This  is  all  right,"  assented  Crissey,  taking  out 
his  watch.  "But  when  do  we  begin  to  eat?  I'm 
as  hungry  as  a  dog  now.  It's  half-past  six." 

"We  don't  really  get  to  work  before  seven,"  re- 
plied Chapin.  "Have  a  drink?" 


A   LITTLE   SUPPER  11 

"No,  thanks ;  I  don't  believe  I  will — not  if  we've 
got  another  half-hour  to  wait  before  feeding." 

The  doorbell  was  ringing  with  great  frequency 
now,  and  the  guests  were  arriving  rapidly,  singly 
and  in  little  groups.  Chito  was  omnipresent,  danc- 
ing about,  appearing  and  disappearing  as  limply 
and  as  jerkingly  as  a  marionette.  He  opened  the 
door ;  he  brought  in  things  for  the  table ;  he  helped 
some  tip-producing  guest  to  take  off  his  coat. 
There  was  a  marked  effort  on  the  part  of  those  ar- 
riving to  be  truly  Bohemian.  They  were  mostly 
respectable  business  men  or  clerks  in  business 
offices.  The  women  were,  in  the  majority  of  cases, 
wives  accompanied  by  their  own  husbands;  yet 
there  was  a  pervading  sense  that  herein  was  to  be 
found  the  real  thing  so  far  as  Bohemia  was  con- 
cerned. Many  of  the  ladies  did  not  know  exactly 
what  Bohemia  is,  but  they  had  a  vague  idea  that 
it  is  a  place  where  people  eat  spaghetti,  and  con- 
duct themselves  in  a  free  and  easy  manner.  A 
white-haired  sculptor  who  dined  regularly  at  the 
place  satisfied  the  ideals  of  those  who  believed 
Bohemia  to  be  a  land  frequented  by  artists,  authors 
and  other  such  delightful  and  irresponsible  folk. 
Three  or  four  mysterious  characters,  and  two 
Levantines  who  talked  Italian  with  the  sculptor, 


12        THE  LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

and  French  with  any  of  the  guests  who  knew  a  few 
words  of  the  language,  verified  by  their  presence 
the  rumor  that  all  classes  mingled  freely  at  Ma'am 
Galli's,  and  that  French  and  Italian  were  the  prin- 
cipal tongues  spoken  there. 

"Bravo,  Chito;  bravo!"  cried  Chapin,  clapping 
his  hands.  The  other  guests  joined  in  the  applause 
of  the  waiter,  who  now  appeared  with  an  armful 
of  chianti  bottles,  containing  cheap  California  wine, 
which  he  proceeded  to  set  on  the  table,  one  bottle 
at  each  plate. 

"I  take  it  that  the  dinner  hour  is  not  far  off  now," 
sighed  Crissey. 

"The  soup'll  come  next,"  prophesied  Chapin. 

"Is  there  raviola?"  inquired  anxiously  some  per- 
son who  had  in  all  probability  been  searching  his 
memory  for  the  name  during  the  past  ten  minutes. 
To  be  able  to  enjoy  queer  dishes  is  also  supposed 
to  be  a  Bohemian  earmark. 

"Not  to-night."  The  owner  of  the  voice  simu- 
lated despair. 

"Tourtas?"  asked  another  guest. 

"Si,  signor." 

"Good!  Good!"  shouted  half  a  dozen  enthusi- 
astically. 

"You  see  what  sort  of  a  place  it  is,"  whispered 
Chapin  triumphantly.  "Isn't  this  Bohemian, 


A   LITTLE    SUPPER  13 

though  ?  And  just  wait  till  you  taste  the  spaghetti ! 
Hello,  there's  Hutchins.  He's  the  best  ever,  and 
so's  his  wife." 

Frank  Hutchins  and  Fred  Bird,  espying  Chapin, 
called  out,  "Ah  there,  Harry !"  and  came  over  to  the 
fireplace.  Hutchins  was  a  large  man,  with  the  face 
of  a  middle-aged  Apollo  and  the  stomach  of  a  vali- 
ant trencherman  of  sedentary  habits.  He  had  ac- 
quired the  stomach  at  an  athletic  club  famous  for 
its  mixed  drinks  and  its  course  dinners.  Bird  was 
also  a  corpulent  gentleman,  whose  bald  and  shining 
forehead  added  to  his  general  rotund  effect.  Both 
were  noted  good  fellows  and  good  livers,  so  beam- 
ing with  friendliness  that  no  one  ever  gave  a  thought 
to  their  intellectual  gifts,  which  were  in  reality  not 
inconsiderable.  Hutchins,  especially,  was  a  rare 
judge  of  bourbon,  and  had  never  been  known  to 
say  an  unkind  word  about  anybody.  Chapin  in- 
troduced Crissey,  and  Bird  and  Hutchins  each  pro- 
posed an  appetizer.  Crissey  assented,  mentally  re- 
flecting that  dinner  must  surely  be  nearly  ready  by 
this  time. 

"Ma'am  Galli  has  some  very  decent  Maryland 
reserve,"  explained  Hutchins,  pointing  to  the  con- 
verted bookcase  in  the  corner.  Crissey  observed 
that  there  was  a  formidable  array  of  foreign-looking 
bottles  behind  the  glass  door — chianti  and  ver- 


i4        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

mouth  flasks,  stone  jugs,  and  fat  liqueur  bottles— 
but  that  the  object  which  Chito  most  frequently 
brought  forth  was  a  familiar-looking  receptacle 
containing  plain  American  whisky. 

"Here  come  the  girls,"  said  Hutchins,  as  the 
wives  appeared,  accompanied  by  a  young  woman 
of  striking  beauty.  Mrs.  Bird  was  in  full  evening 
dress.  It  was  said  that  she  was  insanely  devoted 
to  her  husband,  and  that  he  was  as  proud  of  her 
shoulders  as  though  they  had  been  hewn  out  of 
Carrara  by  Story  and  had  cost  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars. Her  hair  was  light  and  fluffy,  and  a  diamond 
star  glittered  in  its  meshes.  Mrs.  Hutchins  was 
slender  and  willowy.  She  wore  a  green  street 
dress  and  a  green  hat  ornamented  with  fur.  She 
was  vivacious  by  both  nature  and  art. 

"Come  girls,  get  into  the  game  here,  get  into  the 
game!"  cried  Hutchins,  as  Chito  brought  the 
whisky  bottle  and  set  it  down  on  the  table  before 
the  party.  Chapin  was  introduced  to  Miss  Aikin, 
and  Crissey  was  presented  to  Miss  Aikin  and  to 
Mrs.  Bird.  Otherwise,  all  were  acquainted.  Mrs. 
Hutchins  ordered  ginger  ale.  Mrs.  Bird  and  Miss 
Aikin  both  declined  anything  intoxicating,  pro- 
fessedly because  they  were  in  a  public  place,  really 
for  fear  of  making  their  noses  red. 

Chito  came  in  holding  at  arm's  length"  a  bowl  of 


A   LITTLE    SUPPER  15 

steaming  soup.  He  received  a  general  ovation. 
The  Hutchins  party  took  their  places  at  the  table, 
and  it  was  regarded  a  great  piece  of  good  fortune 
that  these  were  contiguous  to  those  of  Chapin  and 
Crissey.  Mrs.  Hutchins  moved  everybody  round  so 
that  Miss  Aikin  and  Chapin  sat  together  at  her  left 
hand. 

"You  two  are  the  only  unmarried  ones  here," 
she  explained.  "You  can  sit  together,  but  I  am 
going  to  keep  you  right  here  under  my  wing." 

"Be  careful  or  she'll  have  you  married  before  you 
get  out  of  the  place,"  shouted  Bird,  looking  down 
the  line.  "She's  a  notorious  match-maker." 

Chapin  glanced  at  his  companion  with  marked 
admiration.  "She  won't  have  to  work  overtime  on 
me,"  he  replied  gallantly. 

"See  Nellie  blush,"  giggled  Mrs.  Bird. 

The  girl  would  have  been  a  bold  character  if  the 
color  had  not  mounted  to  her  face,  for  she  became 
aware  that  the  eyes  of  the  dozen  or  fifteen  strangers 
seated  opposite  were  fixed  upon  her  in  furtive  ad- 
miration. She  was  indeed  a  woman  of  striking 
and  unusual  beauty.  No  longer  in  her  first  youth, 
she  verified  the  fact,  well  known  among  connois- 
seurs, that  a  woman  reaches  the  acme  of  loveliness 
when  her  charms  are  mature.  She  wore  a  dress  of 
golden  brown,  a  color  that  she  affected  as  harmon- 


16        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

izing  with  her  red-gold  hair,  which  was  her  crown- 
ing physical  adornment.  This  was  very  long,  and 
she  wound  it  about  on  top  of  her  head  in  braids  in 
a  coronet  effect.  Her  face  and  features  were  rather 
small,  but  her  h'air  prevented  them  from  looking 
insignificant.  Her  complexion  was  warm,  and 
there  were  a  few  tiny  freckles  on  her  nose  and 
cheeks.  She  had  hazel  eyes,  with  a  reddish  gleam 
in  them,  and  yellow-brown  eyelashes.  An  explo- 
sive laugh,  which  never  betrayed  her  into  opening 
her  mouth  very  wide,  not  even  when,  as  now,  it  was 
provoked  partly  by  nervousness,  exhibited  to  the 
world  a  marvelous  set  of  teeth — white,  not  too 
large,  and  evenly  placed.  Her  nose  and  lips  were 
a  trifle  fleshy,  suggesting  not  so  much  a  sensual 
streak,  as  probable  plumpness  in  her  graceful,  tailor- 
made  figure. 

"Cheese  in  your  soup?"  asked  Chapin,  attentively 
dipping  a  spoon  into  a  saucer  of  grated  parmesan 
and  holding  it  toward  Nellie's  plate.  She  hesitated 
a  moment,  but  Harry  assured  her  that  it  was  the 
"proper  caper" ;  and  she  murmured,  "A  little,  thank 
you,"  convinced  that  cheese  in  soup  was  Bohemian, 
though  from  any  other  point  of  view  she  would  have 
refused  it  as  an  outlandish  mess. 

"How  disgustingly  these  foreigners  eat  soup!" 
whispered  Mrs.  Bird  to  Crissey,  as  a  high,  thin, 


A   LITTLE   SUPPER  17 

sipping  sound  was  heard  in  various  portions  of  the 
room.  . 

"That's  nothing,"  volunteered  Chapin,  who  had 
heard  the  remark.  "Wait  till  they  begin  on  spa- 
ghetti !" 

"Oh,  dear,  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  about 
the  spaghetti!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bird.  "I  can't  eat 
it  in  the  regular  foreign  way.  It  slips  out  of  my 
mouth  as  fast  as  I  put  it  in." 

"Remember  what  I  told  you  about  cutting  it  up," 
said  her  husband ;  "these  people  here  will  think  you 
have  never  been  out  of  town  if  you  cut  up  your 
spaghetti." 

The  table  in  the  front  parlor  had  been  taken  en- 
tirely by  some  social  club  from  Evanston.  The 
party  included  two  or  three  young  girls  who,  in 
the  words  of  Chapin,  were  having  the  "time  of 
their  lives."  A  good  young  man,  of  the  exemplary 
type  so  common  in  that  suburb,  was  smoking  a  ciga- 
rette between  the  soup  and  the  next  course,  with  the 
air  of  a  genuine  cosmopolitan.  One  of  the  girls 
was  gazing  at  him  with  undisguised  wonder  and 
an  expression  that  said  plainer  than  words,  "I 
hate  a  goody-goody  man !" 

Crissey,  who  had  not  found  anything  to  say  yet, 
was  catching  scraps  of  conversation  from  the  babble 
that  was  going  on  at  his  own  table.  The  white- 


1 8       THE  LONG   STRAIGHT  ROAD 

haired  sculptor  was  talking  about  the  grand  opera 
with  an  excitable  dark  woman  at  his  left,  assuring 
her  in  French,  with  many  gestures,  that  something 
or  other  was  "man's  music."  A  little  Jew,  witK 
red  eyes  and  a  projecting  under  lip  so  drawn  down 
at  the  corners  that  it  pulled  the  skin  tight  over  his 
cheek  bones,  was  attempting  to  draw  Frank  Hutch- 
ins  into  conversation  across  the  table  on  the  subject 
of  socialism,  which  he  introduced  apropos  of  noth- 
ing. For  the  rest,  they  all  seemed  to  be  talking 
of  various  ways  to  cook  spaghetti  and  of  different 
places  in  Europe  where  they  had  eaten  it.  Those 
who  were  not  talking  were  looking  at  Mrs.  Bird, 
whose  decollete  costume  was  due  to  the  fact  that 
she  was  giving  a  box  party  at  the  theater.  Many 
of  the  men  present  had  hitherto  gained  their  only 
idea  of  woman  in  full  dress  from  the  variety  stage, 
and  the  wax  figures  in  the  show  windows  of  the 
department  stores.  When  the  spaghetti  arrived, 
Hutchins,  Bird  and  Chapin  helped  themselves 
to  twice  as  much  as  they  wanted,  and  actually 
ate  the  enormous  heaps  upon  their  plates  with  the 
zest  of  those  who  have  acquired  the  truly  Bohemian 
appetite.  Crissey,  who  was  a  stanch  American,  cut 
up  his  portions  into  little  bits,  a  precedent  which 
was  followed  by  Mrs.  Bird  and  Mrs.  Hutchins. 
Chapin  gave  Nellie  instructions  in  spaghetti-eating. 


A   LITTLE   SUPPER  19 

"I  can't  suck  it  up  like  that,"  she  giggled. 
"Everybody  is  looking  at  me." 

"Nonsense,"  replied  Harry.  "In  a  Bohemian 
place  like  this,  nobody  minds  what  you  do." 

"But  it  makes  a  woman  so  ugly  to  pucker  up  her 
mouth  like  that.  Just  look  at  the  woman  down  at 
the  end  of  the  table." 

"That's  different  again,"  replied  Harry.  "You 
can't  judge  by  her.  She  didn't  start  even  with! 
you." 

"She  took  twice  as  much  as  I  did." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  on  spaghetti;  I  meant  on 
looks." 

"How  are  you  getting  on  down  there?"  cried 
Hutchins  cheerfully,  glancing  down  the  line. 
"Break  away!  Break  away!" 

"Don't  bother  'em,"  whispered  his  wife ;  "they're 
so  interested  in  each  other !" 

"You  stick  your  fork  in  it  like  this,"  explained 
Chapin,  "and  whirl  it  round  and  round  until  you 
have  a  little  ball,  which  you  put  into  your  mouth 
like  this." 

"Of  course,"  he  continued  a  minute  or  two  later, 
"if  there's  a  string  or  two  that  don't  twist  up,  you 
can  bite  it  off." 

"What  a  romantic-looking  man  your  friend  is," 
murmured  Nellie,  glancing  up  from  her  plate  after 


20        THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

having  performed  quite  successfully  the  difficult 
gastronomic  feat.  "Such  heavy  white  hair  makes 
a  young  man  look  so  romantic.  Has  Mr.  Crissey 
ever  had  any  great  trouble?" 

"Crissey  romantic !"  exclaimed  Harry.  "Listen." 
The  lawyer  was  talking  to  a  man  who  had  called  out 
to  him  from  the  other  side  of  the  table : — "I  see  by 
the  morning  papers  that  the  committee  want  you 
to  run  for  alderman  against  Badenough — " 

"They  do  me  the  honor  of  saying  that  I  am  the 
only  man  in  my  ward  who  can  defeat  Badenough, 
but  they  want  me  to  contribute  two  thousand  dol- 
lars to  the  campaign  fund.  This  I  refuse  to  do. 
If  they  really  believe  that  I  am  the  only  available 
man,  then  I  should  Have  the  support  of  the  machine 
without  being  called  upon  to  put  up.  I  am  willing 
to  do  my  part  toward  overthrowing  the  corrupt  ring 
which  is  now  in  power,  but  I  have  not  sufficient 
means  to  risk  two  thousand  dollars  on  a  political 
gamble.  I  am  not  so  ready  to  put  up  money  for  a 
public  office  as  are  some  of  those  already  in  power. 
Lacking  their  experience,  I  can  not  see  wherein 
the  position  of  alderman  should  be  one  of  such 
pecuniary  value." 

There  was  a  faint  ripple  of  applause  from  all 
pans  of  the  room.  Crissey,  wKo  was  regarded  as  a 


A   LITTLE   SUPPER  21 

jury  lawyer  of  great  promise,  had  a  way  of  saying 
commonplaces  in  a  convincing  and  stately  manner. 
He  was  a  self-centered  man,  with  an  evident  pur- 
pose in  life.  The  little  Jew  immediately  addressed 
him  on  the  subject  of  socialism. 

"Is  he  married?"  asked  Nellie. 

"Sure,"  replied  Harry,  in  a  tone  of  evident  ex- 
ultation, "and  has  a  whole  houseful  of  children — 
regular  private  kindergarten.  That's  why  you 
never  see  his  wife  with  him,  I  suppose.  She  has  to 
stay  at  home  and  take  care  of  the  kids." 

This  remark  sounded  a  little  disloyal  to  Harry 
himself,  but  somehow  he  was  nettled  by  the  interest 
which  this  stunning  girl  was  taking  in  his  friend. 
Not  that  he  could  blame  her  particularly,  after  all, 
for  Edward  Crissey  was  one  of  the  men  whom 
women  look  at.  His  hair  was  snowy  white,  as  Nel- 
lie had  observed,  but  its  glossy  abundance  and  the 
clear  red  of  his  cheeks  gave  him  a  youthful  expres- 
sion. His  face  was  clean-shaven,  and  distinctly 
forceful  and  intellectual.  Nellie's  furtive  but  pho- 
tographic glance  had  taken  in  a  large  mouth,  thin 
lips,  dark  eyes  and  eyelashes,  a  prominent  Roman 
nose,  a  pair  of  square,  strong  shoulders — on  the 
whole,  the  face  and  figure  of  a  man  who  was  in  the" 
world  to  win  his  way  and  to  command  respect. 


22        THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"She's  one  of  the  unknown  wives  of  unknown 
husbands,"  murmured  Nellie,  her  mind  still  dwell- 
ing on  Harry's  last  bit  of  information. 

The  latter  laughed  immoderately,  repeating  the 
expression. 

"That's  good,"  he  said;  and  then,  anxious  to 
make  amends  for  his  slight  disloyalty,  "but  he  won't 
be  unknown  long.  Edward  Crissey  is  a  coming 
man.  He's  a  man  of  destiny.  Nothing  can  stop 
him.  He  and  I  went  to  school  together  when  we 
were  boys.  He  started  out  from  a  little  boy  to  be  a 
great  man — used  to  say  that  he  would  be  president 
of  the  United  States  some  day." 

"He  looks  eloquent,"  observed  Nellie. 

"He  is.  He  can  say,  'It's  a  pleasant  day,'  in  such 
a  way  that  you'll  feel  as  if  it  was  pleasant  just  to 
oblige  you,  you  know — but  that's  good — 'unknown 
wives  of  unknown  men !' "  The  tame  remark 
seemed  the  very  essence  of  wit  to  Harry. 

The  Birds  and  the  Hutchinses  left  early,  taking 
Nellie  with  them.  Harry  helped  the  girl  into  her 
coat,  one  of  the  long,  loose,  nightgown-like  gar- 
ments so  fashionable  at  the  time,  and  handed  her 
her  hat,  golden  brown  and  trimmed  with  a  brown 
pheasant's  wing  flecked  with  yellow  spots. 

"We're  going  to  see  Blanche  Bates,"  called  out 
Bird.  "I'd  ask  you  to  come  along,  but  my  carriage 


A   LITTLE    SUPPER  23 

won't  hold  another.  Nellie  will  have  to  sit  on  my 
lap,  as  it  is." 

"No,  on  mine,"  said  Hutchins.  "I've  got  first 
call!" 

"We've  had  a  delightful  time !"  said  Mrs.  Bird. 

"So  Bohemian !"  added  Nellie. 

"You  must  all  come  to  my  house  next  Friday 
night,"  put  in  Mrs.  Hutchins.  "We'll  have  some 
music,  and  a  Dutch  lunch  at  midnight." 

"That'll  be  Bohemian,  too!"  cried  Harry;  and, 
pulling  Mrs.  Hutchins  by  the  arm,  he  whispered, 
" Will  Miss  Aikin  be  there?" 

"Yes,  if  you'll  promise  to  come;  and  you  can 
go  out  in  the  kitchen  together  and  make  potato 
salad."  And  then  aloud,  "I  appoint  Miss  Aikin 
and  Mr.  Chapin  a  committee  of  two  to  make  the 
potato  salad." 

"Hear !  Hear !"  cried  Hutchins. 

"Will  you  come,  Mr.  Crissey,  and  bring  Mrs. 
Crissey?"  asked  the  prospective  hostess. 

"I  should  be  delighted  to  accept  of  your  charm- 
ing hospitality,"  replied  Crissey,  "but  I  am  so  busy 
now  with  political  matters  and  an  important  suit 
that  I  have  not  an  evening  to  myself.  And  just 
now  Mrs.  Crissey  has  two  sick  children  on  her 
hands — nothing  serious,  nothing  serious — earache 
for  the  three-year-old  and  teeth  in  the  case  of  the. 


24        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

baby,  so  that  the  poor  woman  is  little  less  than  a 
prisoner.  I'm  away  from  home  to-night  simply  be- 
cause I  did  not  want  to  trouble  her  to  have  dinner 
ready,  and  I  have  a  committee  to  see  in  half  an  hour 
now." 

"She's  as  witty  as  she  is  beautiful,"  declared 
Chapin,  handing  Crissey  an  imported  Panatela,  after 
the  others  had  gone.  "Such  a  woman  as  that  is 
enough  to  drive  a  man  to  matrimony." 

"I  should  hardly  have  been  able  to  get  on  without 
my  wife,"  mused  Crissey,  blowing  a  long,  thin 
feather  of  smoke  toward  the  ceiling. 

The  people  from  Evanston  left  early,  shortly  after 
Crissey's  departure,  the  good  young  man  from  the 
suburbs  remarking  that  he  hated  to  throw  away  his 
cigarette,  and  the  sweet  girl  murmuring,  "I've  had 
a  perfectly  lovely  time — the  place  is  so  Bohemian." 

Then  the  regular  habitues  began  the  evening's 
fun.  The  queer-shaped,  foreign-looking  bottles  in 
the  converted  bookcase  were  brought  out,  and 
strange  drinks  were  concocted.  The  excitable,  dark 
woman  gave  a  recitation,  taking  advantage  of  the 
rhetorical  pauses  to  puff  vigorously  at  her  cigarette. 
Some  of  the  guests  ran  out  into  the  kitchen  to  hob- 
nob with  Ma'am  Galli  and  to  cajole  extra  cups  of 
coffee  out  of  her.  The  whole  company  sang  "We'll 
Hang  Willie  Smith  to  a  Sour  Apple  Tree,"  and 


A   LITTLE    SUPPER  25 

bombarded  that  gentleman,  who  was  the  editor  of 
a  hydrophobia  and  moribund  weekly,  with  bread 
balls.  A  tall  girl,  with  big,  yearning  eyes  and  the 
face  of  the  Sistine  Madonna,  went  over  to  the  piano 
and  sang  a  parody  on  "Ah  Want  My  Black  Baby 
Back,"  in  which  the  word  "baby"  was  put  in  the 
possessive  case  and  there  was  a  reference  to  cold 
feet.  Harry  and  several  other  of  the  men  gath- 
ered around  her  and  demanded  a  whole  repertoire 
of  "coon"  songs.  One  of  the  Levantines  shut  the 
doors  between  the  two  parlors,  and  a  game  of  poker 
was  soon  in  full  swing.  But  Harry  left  while  the 
evening  was  still  promising.  The  girl  at  the  piano 
had  lost  her  Bohemian  charm  for  him ;  her  voice 
sounded  raucous,  and  her  wit  had  become  stale. 
Bidding  the  jolly,  thoughtless  company  good  night, 
he  went  down  into  the  squalid  street.  There  was 
the  chill,  acrid  smell  in  the  air  of  the  first  hour  after 
midnight,  and  a  few  nervous  and  anemic  stars 
were  glittering  in  the  sky  far  above  the  housetops. 


CHAPTER  II 

IMPARTIAL  ADVICE 

The  evening  at  the  Hutchins'  flat  on  the  South 
Side  was  a  very  pleasant  occasion  for  Harry,  and 
served  to  make  more  insistent  and  agreeable  than 
ever  the  image  of  the  girl  with  the  red-gold  hair  and 
the  yellow-brown  eyelashes.  He  mixed  the  potato 
salad  with  her,  and  that  incorrigible  match-maker, 
Mrs.  Hutchins,  took  care  that  they  should  have 
the  kitchen  to  themselves  for  a  good  half  hour. 
There  was  much  chatter  about  the  amount  of  olive 
oil  and  vinegar,  and  a  playful  struggle  for  a  big 
wooden  spoon.  Once,  when  they  were  standing 
close  together  looking  into  a  bowl,  Nellie's  red-gold 
hair  brushed  Harry's  cheek  and  gave  him  a  thrill 
which  recurred  afterward  as  often  as  he  thought  of 
the  circumstance.  He  waked  up  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  several  times  to  think  of  Nellie,  and  he  was 
thinking  of  her  now  as  he  stood  in  the  door  of  his 
lodgings  on  Evanston  Avenue  on  the  North  Side. 

It  was  a  frame  cottage  with  a  large  garden  in 
26 


IMPARTIAL   ADVICE  27 

the  rear,  and  Harry  was  the  only  lodger,  occupying 
a  large  front  room  upstairs  and  an  alcove  bedroom. 
His  landlady  was  a  cheerful  German  woman  with 
one  daughter,  a  grass-widow  who  gave  music  les- 
sons, and  taught  German  in  a  private  school. 
Harry  was  most  comfortable  there.  In  winter  the 
fire  was  lighted  in  his  stove  every  morning  at  six. 
The  house  was  old-fashioned,  and  the  room  was 
thoroughly  warmed  before  lie  arose.  He  had  a  well- 
stocked  sideboard,  and  gave  an  occasional  card  party 
to  his  men  friends,  on  which  occasions  there  was  no 
lack  of  conviviality.  Though  he  was  only  a  mod- 
erate smoker,  there  was  a  great  sHow  of  smoking 
paraphernalia  in  his  room ;  pipes  everywhere,  cigars 
ostentatiously  displayed  in  a  glass  box  with  a  silver 
top,  and  an  idiotic  little  table  with  three  legs  and 
a  number  of  set  receptacles — one  of  those  gift  ar- 
ticles which  are  of  no  earthly  use,  but  which  haunt 
the  unhappy  recipient  till  his  death.  Harry  often 
had  his  coffee  in  bed;  and  good  coffee  it  was,  too, 
for  the  old  lady  made  it  herself.  If  he  arose  suffi- 
ciently early,  he  ate  his  breakfast  with  the  buxom 
music  teacher.  His  lunch  and  dinner  were  always 
eaten  down  town,  at  one  or  another  of  several  re- 
sorts where  there  was  plenty  of  good  cheer  and  hale 
fellowship. 
Harry  himself  was  not  a  youth  of  extraordinary, 


28        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

endowments,  either  physical  or  mental.  He  was 
tall,  slender,  and  thin-chested ;  his  mother  had  used 
to  call  him  "chicken-breasted."  His  face  was  thin, 
dark  and  sallow;  and  he  wore  large  eyeglasses,  to 
counteract  a  weakness  induced  by  working  by  elec- 
tric light  and  sitting  up  late  o'  nights  in  a  cloud  of 
tobacco  smoke.  His  forehead  was  somewhat  nar- 
row and  high,  an  effect  which  was  augmented  by 
a  slight  promise  of  baldness  in  front.  His  hair  and 
eyes  were  black,  and  he  had  a  vivacious  way,  as 
though  he  were  always  about  to  tell  a  joke  or  say 
something  bright — thus  arousing  a  hope  which 
never  quite  materialized.  Yet  he  had  a  slangy,  up- 
to-date  way  of  saying  things  which  often  brought 
applause,  and  he  was  so  manifestly  gregarious 
and  light-hearted  that  he  was  greeted  as  a  boon 
companion  whenever  he  appeared  in  any  company. 
Perhaps,  had  he  really  possessed  a  trenchant  wit  or 
unusual  force  of  character,  he  would  have  had  fewer 
friends.  His  popularity  was  due  partly  to  the  fact 
that  the  rank  and  file  of  his  acquaintance  felt  him 
to  be  one  of  themselves. 

"It's  going  to  be  pleasant  after  all,"  he  muttered, 
as  a  sickly  ray  of  sun  struggled  through  the  vast 
billows  of  clouds,  black  and  smoky-white,  with 
which  the  March  sky  was  piled.  "I  guess  spring 
has  sprung."  And  a  faint  image  of  his  mother  took 


IMPARTIAL   ADVICE  29 

form  in  his  brain  and  faded  out  again,  for  this  had 
been  a  favorite  expression  of  hers. 

There  had  been  several  days  of  summer  warmth 
and  a  drizzling  rain,  which  had  caused  the  snow  to 
vanish  from  the  streets,  leaving  only  surly  spots 
of  ice  here  and  there  by  the  walk.  But  during  the 
night  it  had  snowed  again,  and  the  earth  was 
marked  with  mangy  patches  of  white  and  brown. 
The  branches  of  an  oak  tree  opposite  the  house  were 
bare,  save  for  a  cluster  of  dead  yellow  leaves  that 
had  hung  on  all  winter,  and  silver  tears  of  dew 
were  dripping  from  the  brown  twigs.  A  bird 
somewhere  in  the  distance  called  out  a  little  flurry 
of  clear  notes,  and  the  sun  flashed  brightly  through 
an  opening  of  clouds. 

Harry  stepped  briskly  down  the  street,  whistling 
"I  Guess  I'll  Have  to  Telegraph  My  Baby."  At 
the  "limits"  barns  he  met  Gehrke,  his  landlady's  gro- 
cer, a  prosperous,  well-fed,  amiable  bachelor  of  Ger- 
man descent.  Harry  and  Gehrke  belonged  to  the 
same  suburban  bowling  club. 

"Good  morning,  Harry,"  cried  the  latter;  "are 
you  going  to  ride  on  the  grip  ?" 

"Sure;  you  couldn't  get  me  inside  on  a  day  like 
this." 

"Well,  I  guess  the  backbone  of  winter  is  broke," 
observed  Mr.  Gehrke,  sniffing  the  keen  air  that  yet 


3o        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

had  a  balmy  smell.  "Smoke  up?  I  buy  these  by 
the  box.  They're  a  mild,  sweet  smoke." 

"Thanks,"  said  Harry,  accepting  with  consider- 
able secret  trepidation  but  much  outward  eagerness 
the  thick  yellow  weed. 

"Oh,  we'll  have  skating  clean  out  to  the  crib  yet," 
he  ventured,  lighting  the  cigar. 

The  two  men  lapsed  into  silence  for  a  while. 
Talking  is  difficult  on  the  lumbering,  antiquated 
cars  which  the  North-siders  dignify  by  the  name  of 
transportation. 

As  Harry  puffed  away  at  the  cigar,  which,  being 
absolutely  without  character,  was  not  so  aggres- 
sively offensive  as  he  had  feared,  he  noted  his  prog- 
ress by  means  of  certain  signs  which  had  attracted 
his  attention  every  morning  for  years,  and  which 
served  as  milestones  on  his  way  to  his  office,  in- 
variably arousing  the  same  train  of  thought  in  his 
mind — subconsciously  when  he  chanced  to  be'  en- 
gaged in  conversation. 

"Scroggs'  Million  Dollar  Rheumatic  Cure"  made 
him  think  of  a  pretty  girl  whom  he  had  once  met 
at  a  summer  resort  on  the  St.  Joe,  and  who  told 
him  that  her  mother  had  gone  to  town  for  some  of 
this  same  cure.  The  "Dew  Drop  Inn"  called  to  his 
mind  a  friend  in  the  shoe  business  who  once  started 


IMPARTIAL   ADVICE  31 

out  to  cure  a  cold  by  drinking  Medford  rum  and 
molasses,  and  who  was  not  seen  again  for  a  week. 
The  last  heard  of  him  was  in  the  "Dew  Drop  Inn." 
The  name  of  "Sees's"  in  written  characters  across 
a  large  plate-glass  window  aroused  the  reflection 
that  milliners  with  such  foreign-sounding  names 
were  doubtless  more  expensive  than  others.  A 
familiar-looking  hat  in  the  window  sent  the  blood 
back  to  his  heart  and  made  him  feel  again  the 
touch  of  red-gold  hair  against  his  cheek. 

"What  became  of  that  girl  you  were  making  up 
to,  Gehrke?"  he  shouted  to  his  companion.  "Did 
she  give  you  the  icy  mit?" 

Gehrke  began  talking  volubly,  as  a  man  does 
who  is  approached  on  a  subject  that  lies  much  in 
his  thoughts. 

"It  was  like  this,"  Ke  said.  "If  I  go  to  work  and 
make  up  to  a  girl,  my  mother  and  brothers  throw  it 
in  to  me  till  I  am  ashamed  to  go  into  the  house. 
They  guy  the  life  out  of  me.  You  see,  my  mother 
don't  want  me  to  get  married  and  go  off  and  live 
by  myself.  She  always  commences  the  racket,  and 
the  boys  follow  suit.  I  can't  stand  that — to  have 
anybody  throw  it  in  to  me.  She  was  a  peach,  all 
right,  that  girl  was,"  he  sighed  reflectively. 

How  much  depends  upon  the  form  of  expression ! 


32        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

That  sigh  and  that  homely  phrase,  translated  into 
other  language,  might  have  conveyed  the  idea  of  a 
heart  tragedy, 

"Why  don't  you  marry  her  yet?"  asked  Harry, 
still  thinking  of  the  red-gold  hair.  "Don't  you  in- 
tend to  get  married  some  day?" 

"You  bet  I  do,"  cried  Gehrke,  shouting  hoarsely 
in  his  companion's  ear  and  talking  as  rapidly  as 
possible  when  the  car  stopped  at  the  corners. 

"You  see,  it's  like  this:  If  I  want  to  sleep  late 
in  the  mornings,  mother  comes  in  and  wakes  me  and 
says,  'Get  up,  Theo,  the  girl  wants  to  make  up  the 
room.'  Then  on  Sunday  morning,  if  I  lay  in  bed 
late,  what  do  my  father  and  brothers  do  ?  They  go 
to  work  and  use  up  all  the  hot  water  to  take  a  bath' 
with.  And  if  I  get  tired  of  this  and  go  to  work  and 
make  up  to  a  girl,  then  my  whole  family  go  to  work 
and  throw  it  in  to  me." 

When  Mr.  Gehrke  became  excited,  he  repeated 
with  remarkable  frequency  the  expression  "go  to 
work,"  as  well  as  the  main  statements  of  his  dis- 
course. 

The  smell  of  tobacco  from  a  factory  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  Division  Street  reminded  Harry  that  he  was 
half-way  down  town,  and  he  looked  at  his  watch  to 
see  if  he  was  going  to  be  late  at  his  office. 

"How  much  of  an  income  does  a  man  need  to  get 


IMPARTIAL   ADVICE  33 

married  on?"  he  asked  his  companion.  His  own 
salary  was  thirty  dollars  a  week. 

"You  see,  it's  like  this,"  replied  Gehrke.  "If  a 
man  goes  to  work  and  marries  a  girl  that's  no  good 
— that  wants  to  live  on  pie  and  fried  steak  and  wear 
electric  seal  sacques,  and  go  to  the  matinee  every 
week,  but  don't  know  how  to  boil  water — then  he's 
getting  the  little  end,  unless  he's  rich.  But  if  he 
goes  to  work  and  marries  a  good,  sensible  girl, 
who'll  be  a  help  to  him,  then  he  can  live  cheaper  and 
better  married  than  single." 

"I  guess  that's  no  lie  either,"  said  Harry,  uncon- 
sciously adapting  his  style  to  his  companion's  men- 
tal caliber. 

"Now  there's  my  clerk,  Tom,"  continued  Gehrke. 
"He's  a  boy  of  education — been  through  the  high 
school.  It's  different  with  him  from  what  it  is  with 
me.  I  could  afford  to  keep  a  hired  girl,  though 
if  the  girl  should  go  to  work  and  leave,  I'd  want  my 
fried  steak  just  the  same  when  I  came  home  at 
night,  and  my  wife  'ud  have  to  go  to  work  and  get 
it.  But  Tom  he  don't  want  to  marry  a  hired  girl, 
and  none  of  the  girls  that  he  knows  are  willing  to 
begin  at  the  bottom  with  him  and  help  work  up. 
Their  fathers  are  well  off,  and  all  they  have  to  do  is 
to  set  around  and  play  the  piano  and  let  their  moth- 
ers or  the  hired  girls  wash  the  dishes." 


34        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

This  conversation,  on  the  whole,  was  not  very  sat- 
isfying to  Harry.  He  found  time  to  revert  to  it 
occasionally  during  the  morning's  work  in  the  of- 
fice, and  the  only  conclusion  to  which  he  could  ar- 
rive was  that  Gehrke  was  in  favor  of  matrimony 
for  himself,  but  that  he  advised  a  young  man  on  a 
salary  to  be  very  careful  in  the  selection  of  a  mate. 

"Of  course,  if  a  man  had  an  independent  business 
like  Gehrke,"  he  reflected,  "he  could  just  keep  a 
wife  as  a  sort  of  luxury,  like.  It's  all  a  lottery," 
he  sighed,  taking  refuge  in  one  of  those  proverbs 
which  do  automatic  thinking  for  uncreative  men. 

At  noon  he  hurried  into  his  coat  and  hat  and  went 
over  to  Crissey's  office  in  the  Unity  Building.  He 
found  him  just  locking  his  door  preparatory  to 
going  out.  They  lunched  together  in  an  under- 
ground restaurant  of  good  repute  for  its  roast  beef 
and  beer. 

"Been  to  Ma'am  Galli's  since?"  asked  Chapin, 
over  the  cigars. 

"No,"  replied  Crissey.  "I  don't  often  take  my 
supper  down  town,  you  know." 

"Didn't  you  think  Mrs.  Bird  was  a  stunner?" 
asked  Chapin  after  a  little. 

"She  is  certainly  a  very  beautiful  woman,"  re- 
plied Crissey,  "and  knows  how  to  make  the  most 
of  her  charms." 


IMPARTIAL   ADVICE  35 

"She's  not  a  marker  to  Miss  Aikin,  though," 
blurted  out  Chapin  awkwardly.  "You  made  a  ter- 
rible mash  there,  old  man,  with  your  blamed  white 
hair  and  red  cheeks." 

"Nonsense,"  replied  Crissey.  "You  were  the  one, 
with  your  spaghetti  lessons.  When  a  fellow  gets 
far  enough  along  to  give  a  girl  lessons  in  eating 
spaghetti,  there's  no  chance  for  anybody  else.  And, 
anyhow,  I'm  not  in  the  market." 

"I  wouldn't  be  in  it  for  a  minute  if  you  were," 
sighed  Chapin.  "I'd  be  an  also  ran.  I  say,  old 
man,  how  much  does  a  chap  really  need  to  get  mar- 
ried on  ?  To  get  along  all  right,  you  know  ?" 

Crissey  took  the  question  most  seriously.  He  had 
a  sympathetic  turn  which,  in  after  years,  was  ac- 
counted the  main  secret  of  his  success. 

"So!"  he  exclaimed.     "It  has  gone  that  far?" 

"I  haven't  said  a  word  to  her,"  replied  Chapin. 
"I  don't  suppose  she'd  look  at  me.  Some  million- 
aire would  be  about  right  for  her.  But  if  I  should 
hit  it  off  with  her,  could  a  man  and  woman  live  on 
thirty  dollars  a  week?  I'd  ask  her  in  a  minute," 
he  cried  excitedly,  "if  I  thought  I  had  enough 
money  to  keep  her  right.  Such  a  woman  as  that 
ought  to  be  dressed  in  silk  every  day.  She  ought  to 
walk  around  on  Turkish  rugs  and  have  nothing  to 
do  but  read  Ouida." 


36        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"If  she's  the  right  kind  of  woman,  though,  she'll 
want  to  do  her  share.  As  for  the  amount  of  salary 
necessary  for  making  matrimony  a  success,  I  should 
say  that  thirty  dollars  is  ample  to  begin  with.  Why, 
my  own  income  sometimes  doesn't  amount  to  so 
much  even  now,"  lowering  his  voice,  "yet  my  wife 
manages  to  make  it  come  out  even,  always,  and  I 
am  never  harassed  with  bills.  We  have  children, 
too.  But  my  wife  is  a  wonderful  woman.  I  hard- 
ly know  how  I  should  get  along  without  her,  or 
how,  in  fact,  I  could  get  along  with  any  other 
woman.  Some  women  are  extravagant,  some  are 
inefficient,  some  are  sick  all  the  time,  and  the  ma- 
jority are  always  jealous — bothering  the  life  out  of 
a  man  with  questions  if  he  is  not  home  at  a  certain 
hour,  and  poking  into  his  business  affairs  to  see  if 
they  can  not  get  on  the  track  of  some  other  woman. 
My  wife  runs  her  end  of  the  machine,  and  I  run 
mine;  and  she's  always  cheerful,  brave,  equal  to 
anything.  You  wouldn't  think  there  could  be  so 
much  strength  and  courage  in  such  a  little  thing. 
I  never  would  have  believed  it  myself  if  I  had  not 
experienced  it.  Sometimes  when  I  come  home 
tired,  she  greets  me  with  a  restful  smile,  and  I  sus- 
pect that  she's  really  more  tired  than  I  am.  As  for 
thirty  dollars,  that's  princely  for  a  start.  We  didn't 


IMPARTIAL   ADVICE  37 

have  over  ten  on  the  average — Dolly  and  I  didn't — 
when  we  got  married.  I  never  knew  how  much 
you  could  get  out  of  ten  dollars  a  week  until  I  got 
married.  You  can  get  hope  witK  it,  old  man,  and 
a  kingdom  where  you  are  king,  with  a  queen  for 
consort — and  peace  and  counsel  and  strength'." 

Chapin  was  leaning  forward  with  his  elbows  on 
the  table,  looking  at  the  speaker  with  burning  eyes. 

"Then  you  believe  in  marriage,"  he  said,  hoarse- 
ly. "You  advise  me,  as  a  friend,  to  go  into  it — 
that  is,  if  she  will  ?" 

"Believe  in  it  ?  I  believe  it's  a  man's  only  chance 
for  happiness  on  earth'.  Of  course,  my  wife  is  an 
exceptional  woman,  but  then — " 

"There  are  others,"  interrupted  CKapin,  loyally. 
"Miss  Aikin  is  an  angel ;  anybody  could  see  that  by 
just  looking  at  her.  Didn't  you  notice  that,  Ed?" 

"Why,  the  fact  is,  I  didn't  observe  her  very  care- 
fully. I  did  notice  that  she  was  a  very  sweet  and 
attractive  girl,"  he  hastened  to  add,  an  impatient 
move  on  Harry's  part  indicating  that  the  latter  was 
offended.  "You  see,  the  truth  is  that  I  have  no 
eyes  for  the  women  at  all.  I've  settled  the  woman 
question,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

"Miss  Aikin  is  a  woman  of  intellect,  too,"  con- 
tinued Harry.  "Reads  Browning  and  Omar  Khay- 


38        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

yam.  Such  a  woman  would  be  a  companion  to  a 
man.  Don't  you  think  such  a  woman  would  be  a 
companion  to  a  man?" 

"Certainly,  my  boy,  certainly,"  replied  Crissey, 
with  conviction.  "The  best  kind  of  a  companion — 
the  sweetest,  truest,  best  sort  of  a  chum  imaginable." 

"I'll  do  it!"  cried  Harry,  "if  she  will.  Maybe 
she  won't  look  at  me,  but  I'll  put  up  a  front.  A 
man  never  knows  what  he  can  do  until  he  puts  up 
front  enough".  I'll  begin  a  campaign — by  the  way, 
how's  your  campaign  for  alderman  coming  along?" 

"Oh,  that's  all  off  for  the  present,"  laughed  Cris- 
sey. "I  refused  to  contribute  a  thousand  dollars 
and  to  make  a  canvass  of  th'e  saloons.  You  see, 
there  are  a  number  of  all-night  saloons  in  my  ward 
—tough  joints — and  it  would  be  necessary  for  me 
to  make  them  all  sorts  of  promises.  I  couldn't  af- 
ford to  do  that,"  he  said,  with  a  far-away  look  in 
his  eyes,  as  of  a  man  gazing  into  the  future  and 
seeing  something,  "for  I  have  to  make  a  clean  rec- 
ord." 

"Well,  good  luck  to  you,  old  man,"  said  Crissey 
earnestly,  as  tKey  shook  hands  on  the  sidewalk  at 
the  top  of  tKe  stairs.  Then  each  went  his  own  way 
through  the  sunless  street,  pigmies  at  the  foot  of 
the  tremendous,  grimy  buildings,  atoms  in  the 
throngs  of  hurrying  thousands  that  dodged  and 


IMPARTIAL   ADVICE  39 

darted  along  in  either  direction,  with  eager,  care- 
drawn,  joyless  faces.  Harry  with  the  old  primeval 
yearning  in  his  heart  and  the  thrill  of  a  fluff  of  red- 
gold  hair  in  his  veins ;  Crissey  with  his  confident 
tread  and  his  dark  eyes  looking  into  the  future. 


CHAPTER  III 

BEHIND  THE  SCENES 

"You're  a  chump,  Nell,"  said  Carrie  Vinne,  Miss 
Aikin's  roommate.  "Mr.  Crawford  is  a  perfect 
gentleman,  and  so  is  his  friend." 

"What's  his  friend's  name?"  asked  Nellie. 

"I  don't  know — I  can't  remember — sort  of  a  Ger- 
man-sounding name — Bloom,  I  think.  He's  in  the 
brewery  business.  He's  the  loveliest  young  fellow, 
with  the  sweetest  blond  mustache  and  such  a  kill- 
ing way.  He  wears  such  swell  clothes,  too." 

"He  wants  to  go  with  you,  doesn't  he?"  asked 
Nellie,  interested  in  spite  of  herself. 

"No!  He  wouldn't  have  to  ask  me  twice.  Old 
Crawford  wants  me.  Why,  there's  no  harm  in  it, 
Nell,  with  him  along.  He's  old  enough  to  be  the 
father  to  either  of  us.  I  always  call  him  'papa.' 
He's  as  gray  as  a  rat  and  looks  as  pious  as  a  Presby- 
terian deacon.  OK,  come  on,  Nell." 

Nellie  sighed.  "No,"  she  replied  with  determina- 
tion. "It  might  be  pleasant,  but  there's  nothing  in 
40 


BEHIND   THE    SCENES  41 

that  sort  of  thing  for  me.  I  was  brought  up  too 
strict,  in  the  first  place.  Besides,  there's  nothing  in 
it.  My  only  hope  to  get  out  of  drudgery  is  to  get 
married.  I'm  sick  of  standing  all  day  in  the  store 
and  of  living  cramped  up  in  a  little  room.  I  can't 
afford  to  do  anything  that  will  hurt  my  reputation. 
Is  Crawford  a  single  man?" 

"No ;  but  his  wife  is  awful  mean  to  him.  He 
doesn't  love  her  at  all.  He  isn't  happy  at  home.  I 
feel  real  sorry  for  him." 

"Is  this  other  fellow — the  one  with  the  blond 
mustache — is  he  married?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Carrie,  with  some  impa- 
tience. "But  what  difference  does  it  make? 
You're  too  particular.  We're  just  going  out  for  a 
little  pleasure,  and  you'll  break  up  the  party  by  not 
going.  Mr.  Crawford  says  his  friend  is  terribly 
fascinated  with  you,  and  it  was  to  bring  you  two 
together  that  he  got  up  the  party." 

The  girls  were  talking  of  a  projected  automobile 
trip  to  a  wayside  inn,  noted  for  the  accommodating 
nature  of  its  host.  Mr.  Crawford,  the  gray-haired 
gentleman  whose  saintly  appearance  should  have 
been  sufficient  guaranty  for  the  respectability  of 
any  sort  of  excursion,  was  interested  in  automobiles 
and  was  fast  amassing  a  fortune.  His  young  friend, 
whose  name  was  in  fact  Bloom,  was  connected  by 


42        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

marriage  with  a  brewery.  He  had  taken  to  wife 
the  eldest  daughter  of  the  secretary  of  the  company, 
an  unprepossessing  lady  whose  devotion  had  become 
tiresome  to  him. 

Miss  Aikin  was  an  ambitious  young  lady  in  poor 
circumstances.  Her  room,  wherein  the  conversation 
above  recorded  took  place,  was  a  back  bedroom  on 
Erie  Street.  Its  one  window  looked  out  upon  a 
mansard  roof,  beyond  which  was  a  dirty  alley.  Upon 
the  roof  were  generally  to  be  seen  a  few  scraps  of 
paper,  a  banana  peel  or  two,  perhaps  a  toothless 
comb,  a  few  floating  ribs  from  a  corset,  or  an  empty 
beer  bottle.  If  she  opened  the  door  or  the  transom, 
her  nostrils  were  invaded  by  a  smell  of  past  genera- 
tions of  lodgers  and  of  surreptitious  meals  in  bed- 
rooms ;  this  odor  mingled  with  years  of  family  cook- 
ing in  the  nether  regions,  of  cabbage,  parsnips,  Ger- 
man sours  and  boiled  turnips.  But  who  can  describe 
the  peculiar  odor  that  pertains  to  the  hall  of  a 
lodging  house?  Composed  of  a  thousand  different 
perfumes,  and  mingled  in  varying  proportions,  the 
result,  after  a  sufficient  lapse  of  time,  is  always  iden- 
tical, and  can  never  be  mistaken  by  one  who  has 
once  smelled  it.  This  odor  is,  in  fact,  a  sort  of  com- 
posite record  of  the  industries  which  have  been  car- 
ried on  within.  A  rear  view  of  Miss  Aikin's  lodg- 


BEHIND   THE    SCENES  43 

ing  House  revealed  a  half-filled  milk  bottle  standing 
here  and  there  on  a  window  sill,  an  occasional  tum- 
bler covered  with  a  tea-saucer,  and,  in  one  instance, 
a  long  pair  of  black  stockings,  hung  for  drying 
in  the  wind  by  the  simple  process  of  shutting  the 
window  down  upon  their  tops.  Miss  Aikin  now 
added  to  this  array  by  plastering  against  the  pane  a 
handkerchief  which  she  had  just  been  washing  at 
the  stationary  stand  in  the  closet.  Then  she  walked 
over  and  sat  on  the  open  folding  bed.  She 
seemed  to  be  sitting  in  a  shallow  square  box,  with 
her  legs  hanging  over  the  side.  Nellie  was  at- 
tired in  faded  blue  kimono,  which  permitted,  as  she 
sat  down,  a  glimpse  of  her  black  union  suit.  As 
she  walked  across  the  room,  it  was  evident  to  her 
admiring  roommate,  who  had  often  remarked  upon 
the  fact,  that  her  figure,  when  she  was  dressed,  was 
partly  the  work  of  God,  partly  that  of  woman.  She 
had  fine  hips  and  shoulders,  and  she  was  a  trifle 
sway-backed — just  enough  for  symmetry.  Her 
breast  was  flat,  however,  and  her  foot,  as  one  of 
her  slippers  now  dropped  off,  was  distinctly  ugly. 
The  swollen  joint  gave  a  triangular  line,  and  testi- 
fied to  the  effect  of  vain  and  painful  shoes.  Pulling 
the  pins  from  her  hair,  she  dropped  it  down  her 
back,  running  her  hands  through  it  at  the  temples 
and  shaking  her  head. 


44        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"Gee,  Nell,  but  your  hair  is  fine!"  cried  Miss 
Vinne.  She  was  standing  at  the  glass,  combing 
out  her  own  scanty  blond  locks,  and  carefully  tuck- 
ing the  combings  into  a  black  bag  which  hung  by 
the  puckering  string  to  one  side  of  the  mirror 
frame. 

Miss  Aikin  began  to  comb  her  own  hair  leisurely, 
an  occupation  to  which  she  devoted  nearly  an  hour 
each  day,  and  to  which  she  attributed  in  part  its 
luxuriance  and  gloss.  Strange  to  say,  as  soon  as 
she  dropped  her  wavy  and  red-gold  tresses  down 
on  each  side  of  her  face,  her  expression  changed, 
and  her  beauty  in  great  measure  departed.  Her 
features,  small  in  any  case,  became  noticeably  so, 
and  took  on  a  peaked  and  shrewd  expression.  Her 
face,  looking  from  its  enframing  hair,  was  strange- 
ly suggestive  of  a  rat  peeping  from  a  hole. 

"They  say  kerosene's  good  to  keep  the  hair  from 
falling  out,"  remarked  Carrie,  as  she  rolled  another 
straw-colored  ball  around  her  finger  and  tucked  it 
into  the  bag,  a  provision  for  the  inevitable  time 
when  a  switch  or  a  "front"  would  become  a  neces- 
sity. "But  it  smells  so,"  she  added.  "Do  you  re- 
member the  time  when  I  tried  it  ?  Gee !  I  couldn't 
go  down  to  the  store  for  three  days.  I  sent  word 
that  I  was  sick,  but  old  Baldy  docked  me  the  whole 
time  I  was  away." 


BEHIND   THE    SCENES  45 

"Why  don't  you  try  vaseline?"  asked  Nellie. 
"They  say  it's  made  from  kerosene,  and  it  doesn't 
smell." 

"Did  you  ever  see  that  fellow  again  that  you  met 
at  that  swell  lady's  on  the  South  Side  ?"  asked  Car- 
rie, lighting  the  gas  to  heat  her  curling  irons,  a 
favorite  implement  with  ladies  of  disappearing 
locks.  "Gee !  I'll  bet  you're  mashed  on  him,  Nell !" 
and  she  looked  solemnly  at  her  companion. 

"Don't  say  'gee'  so  much,  Carrie,"  remonstrated 
Nellie,  picking  up  the  scissors  and  holding  a  wisp 
of  her  hair  before  her  eyes  that  she  might  scan  it 
for  split  ends.  "It  isn't  refined  or  ladylike.  No, 
I'm  not.  I'm  not  so  soft.  I'm  not  going  to  make 
a  fool  of  myself  over  anybody.  I'm  going  to  marry 
some  nice  fellow  who  can  give  me  a  home  and  take 
care  of  me.  There's  nothing  in  falling  in  love  with 
some  fellow  who  can  not  take  care  of  you,  and 
there's  nothing  in  running  around  with  married 
men.  They  give  you  a  nice  time  once  or  twice,  and 
then  they  insult  you." 

"Papa  never  insulted  me,"  observed  Carrie,  wip- 
ing the  iron  on  a  piece  of  paper.  "He'd  better  not. 
He  knows  I'd  bounce  him  in  no  time.  And  don't 
talk  to  me  about  marriage,  either.  Marriage  is  a 
failure — working  for  a  brute  of  a  man  who  doesn't 
love  you  any  more,  and  for  a  houseful  of  kids! 


46        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

Look  at  Susie  Pearce,  who  married  a  floor-walker, 
Gee!  she's  a  fright,  all  skin  and  bone;  has  four 
children  and  does  her  own  work.  She'd  give  any- 
thing to  be  back  in  the  store  again.  She  told  me 
the  last  time  I  saw  her  that  she  hadn't  had  a  night's 
decent  sleep  in  five  years." 

"I'm  not  going  to  have  any  children,"  said  Nellie, 
separating  a  guilty  hair  from  its  mates  and  cutting 
off  its  end  with  a  resolute  snip.  There  was  a  hard, 
un feminine  tone  in  her  voice.  "I  want  to  have 
leisure,  so's  I  can  cultivate  my  mind.  I  believe  I 
could  learn  things  if  I  had  half  a  chance.  I've  got 
a  good  memory.  I  want  to  go  to  lectures,  and  be- 
long to  a  club,  and  study  French'." 

"Well,"  sighed  Carrie,  "I  suppose  you  can  marry 
almost  anybody  you  want,  with  your  figure  and 
your  hair.  I  wish,"  and  she  dropped  down  from 
tiptoe  with  the  iron  again  hot,  "that  I  had  your 
figure ;  I'd  have  gone  on  the  stage.  It's  my  collar- 
bones that  hoodoo  me.  They're  like  flat-iron  han- 
dles. You  could  pick  me  up  by  them.  If  I  became 
a  regular  jumbo,  like  that  Smith  girl  in  the  perfume 
department,  I'd  still  have  collar  bones  and  stringy 
arms.  I'm  built  that  way." 

It  was  Sunday,  and  the  two  girls  were  making  a 
rather  more  elaborate  toilet  than  usual,  consuming 
the  entire  morning  up  to  dinner  time. 


BEHIND   THE    SCENES  47 

"What's  the  matter  with  Harry?"  asked  Carrie, 
dusting  her  face  with  a  powder  puff,  preparatory  to 
putting  on  her  hat. 

"O,  he's  all  right,  I  guess,"  answered  Nellie,  ar- 
rayed at  last  cap-a-pie  in  the  costume  in  which  we 
first  made  her  acquaintance,  and  again  a  statuesque 
effect  in  golden  brown,  even  to  her  veil,  which  she 
now  stretched  down  with  a  comical  moue  of  chin 
and  under  lip  while  she  tied  it  behind. 

"He  asked  to  call,  but  of  course  I  couldn't  bring 
him  here,  and  Mrs.  Jones  is  too  stingy  to  let  us 
have  the  use  of  a  parlor." 

"I'm  just  dying  to  see  him,"  observed  Carrie, 
stretching  her  veil  loose  from  her  nose  with"  finger 
and  thumb  till  she  got  it  to  the  right  tension. 

There  was  a  stiff  wind  without,  swooping  down 
the  dirty  streets,  peppering  the  faces  and  searching 
the  eyes  of  pedestrians  with  splinters  from  bits  of 
wooden  walks  and  fences,  with  pulverized  offal, 
grains  of  floating  coal,  and  vicious  little  pebble- 
stones. With  heads  down,  the  two  girls  hastened 
along  until  they  came  to  a  basement  under  a  brick 
lodging  house.  A  sign  hanging  in  the  window 
bore  the  legend,  "Table  board,  $3.50  a  week."  Go- 
ing down  a  short  flight  of  stairs  under  that  leading 
to  the  first  story,  they  came  into  a  dark  hall.  Open- 
ing a  door,  they  found  themselves  in  the  dining 


48        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

room,  which  was  furnished  with  one  long  table  and 
three  smaller  ones,  a  sideboard,  and  the  necessary 
complement  of  chairs. 

Nellie  and  Carrie  removed  their  veils  and  took 
their  accustomed  places  at  the  long  table,  which, 
it  being  Sunday,  was  covered  with  a  clean  cloth, 
much  darned  in  places  and  worn  thin  in  others. 
There  was  a  heavy,  thick  drinking  glass  by  each 
plate,  and  a  small,  thin  napkin,  folded  into  a  tri- 
angle. In  the  center  was  an  array  of  condiments 
of  extraordinary  number  and  variety  when  one 
takes  into  consideration  the  probable  quantity  and 
quality  of  the  things  provided  to  eat  them  on:  a 
bottle  of  catsup,  whose  brilliant  and  unnatural  scar- 
let hue  suggested  the  forgotten  arts  of  the  ancient 
Tyrian  dyers ;  a  blue  glass  jar  of  pickles  in  a  holder, 
on  one  side  of  which  hung  a  rusty  table  fork ;  and 
a  stained  and  dirty  bottle  of  imitation  Worcester- 
shire, familiarly  known  as  "English"  sauce.  These 
larger  objects  Huddled  in  the  center  of  the  board, 
and  were  seldom  disturbed  by  the  customers  of  the 
place;  but  the  inevitable  salt  and  pepper  shakers, 
of  pink  and  blue  china,  two  at  each  end,  were  more 
in  demand,  and  began  to  jump  about  like  chess 
pawns  as  soon  as  the  soup  appeared. 

Nor  should  there  be  forgotten  th'e  carafe  of  cloudy 
lake  water,  nor  the  immemorial  basket  of  musty  and 


BEHIND   THE   SCENES  49 

soggy  oyster  crackers,  which  latter,  to  use  an  ex- 
pression derived  from  higher  mathematics,  was  a 
"constant  quantity."  Such  was  Nellie  Aikin's 
boarding  house,  and  it  was  typical  of  the  feeding 
places  which  restore  the  tired  brains  and  pale  blood 
of  a  vast  host  of  workers  in  the  stores  and  factories 
of  our  great  cities — a  haunt  of  unimaginable  econo- 
mies in  the  matter  of  soups  and  puddings ;  of  stringy 
meats,  of  withered  vegetables,  of  canned  lobster 
salads,  of  factory  pies. 

Several  of  the  guests  had  already  arrived — a 
smooth-shaven  old  gentleman  who  had  an  office 
in  the  Rookery  Building  and  was  currently  reported 
to  be  interested  in  mines,  a  slender,  languishing 
girl  connected  with  a  patent  medicine  concern  in 
the  Masonic  Temple,  and  a  mysterious  blond  young 
man  whose  business  no  one  ever  had  been  able  to 
find  out.  He  wore  very  high  collars  and  plastered 
his  hair  down  in  the  middle,  making  two  loops  of 
exact  size  and  shape,  like  a  pair  of  curtains.  The 
old  gentleman  told  the  girls  they  were  both  looking 
blooming,  and  so  in  fact  was  Miss  Perkins ;  and  the 
mysterious  youth  peeped  over  the  top  of  his  Sun- 
day paper  to  say,  "Good  morning,  ladies."  Miss 
Perkins  observed  that  she  thought  she  smelled  celery 
soup,  and  that  it  was  a  horrid  day. 

,An  Irish  waitress  in  white  apron  and  cap  came 


50       THE  LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

to  Nellie's  shoulder  and  asked,  "Cream  of  celery?" 
Being  resolved  in  the  negative,  for  Nellie  had  a 
theory  that  soups  make  the  complexion  muddy,  the 
girl  demanded,  "Roast  pork  and  apple  sauce,  breast 
of  veal  with  stuffing  chicken  dumplin'."  "  Nellie  Was 
soon  discussing  a  transparent  wing  of  fowl  with 
scalloped  edges,  a  piece  of  "white  meatj]  ^so  color- 
less as  to  suggest  previous  toll  in  the  interest  of 
the  soup,  and  a  bloodless  dumpling  with  a  "soft  ex- 
terior and  a  bluish  inpenetrable  core.  Nellie  was 
hungry  and  did  not  speak  until  the  first  cravings 
had  been  alleviated.  Then  sHe  whispered  in  Car- 
rie's ear,  "Mrs.  Hutchins  says  he  has  a  line  salary." 


CHAPTER  IV 

APRIL  HOPES 

Harry  was  walking  along  Evanston  'Avenue, 
toward  1the~horth,  taking  note  of  various  apartment 
buildings  in  process  of  construction,  th'at  were  ad- 
vertised for  occupancy  on  May  the  first.  The  sun 
was  shining  brightly  this  morning,  and  Harry  had 
donned  his  spring  overcoat,  which  he  was  wearing 
wide  open,  and  adorned  with  a  boutonniere  of  fra- 
grant violets.  There  was  intoxication  in  the  air 
which  was  irresistible — a  mingled  feeling  of  relaxa- 
tion and  joy.  Harry  threw  out  his  chest  and  drew 
in  long  breaths  of  the  balmy  air.  He  had  a  con- 
sciousness of  recent  escape  from  prison  and  of  own- 
ing the  earth*.  He  seemed  to  take  it  all  into  his 
lungs  at  each  inspiration.  A  trolley  car  hummed 
by,  dragging  an  open  trailer.  On  every  side  were 
signs  of  beginning  life  anew.  Rugs  were  hanging 
from  windows,  and  furniture  was  piled  on  front 
stoops.  People  who  were  not  going  to  move  were 
cleaning  house.  Two  calciminers,  carrying  buckets 


52        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

and  brush,  came  down  the  walk,  looking  at  the 
transoms  for  a  number.  A  party  of  urchins  was 
playing  peg-top  on  a  side  street.  The  oldest  of 
them  was  not  over  ten,  but  they  were  swearing  like 
pirates.  A  robin,  sitting  upon  a  fence  post,  was 
calling  sturdily  and  confidently,  "Hear  ye,  hear  ye, 
spring  has  come,"  like  an  ancient  town  crier.  Some- 
where in  the  distance  a  song  bird  was  linking  a  long, 
thin  chain  of  silver  melody.  The  "to  rent"  signs 
had  begun  to  bloom  in  the  windows  of  cottages  and 
apartment  houses,  and  men  were  painting  the  fronts 
of  little  stores.  Occasionally  an  awning  had  been 
put  up.  When  Harry  passed  a  large  front  yard 
he  noticed  that  green  needles  were  thrusting  up 
through  the  dead,  brown  grass  of  yester-year. 
Tiny  trustful  buds  were  swelling  upon  the  lilac 
sprigs.  A  ragged  tramp  slouched  by  with  a  cat- 
o'-nine-tails  for  beating  carpets.  Harry  stopped  in 
front  of  a  millinery  store,  attracted  by  an  array 
of  brightly  colored  hats.  One  especially  riveted  his 
attention,  an  imposing  structure  of  black  straw, 
higher  on  one  side  than  on  the  other,  with  rings 
and  rings  of  gathered  chiffon  about  the  under  side, 
a  bunch  of  pink  roses  under  the  brim  and  a  larger 
one  atop. 

"Isn't    that    a    peacherino?"    he     soliloquized. 
"She'd  look  fine  in  that!"    He  walked  on,  but  the 


APRIL   HOPES  53 

hat  dwelt  in  his  mind.  He  had  never  noticed  the 
peculiar  beauty  of  women's  hats  before.  "It's  an 
art  by  itself,"  he  murmured.  "If  I  knew  her  bet- 
ter, I'd  buy  it  and  send  it  to  her.  I  wonder  what 
they  want  for  such  a  hat?"  He  walked  back  and, 
entering  the  store,  sheepishly  inquired  the  price,  of 
a  pert  young  Jewess.  She  informed  him  that  it  was 
twenty-eight  dollars,  and,  when  he  looked  a  little 
blank,  took  possession  of  him  with  great  dexterity 
and  showed  him  a  long  assortment  of  cheaper  hats, 
trying  them  on  herself.  When  he  at  last  suc- 
ceeded in  stammering  that  he  would  bring  his 
mother  around,  the  Jewess  cried  with  great  anima- 
tion that  she  had  more  suitable  articles  for  older 
ladies. 

Harry  at  last  escaped  into  the  street,  feeling  some- 
how that  he  had  "given  himself  away."  When  he 
had  recovered  his  self-possession  somewhat,  he 
whistled  softly  to  himself: 

"Whew!  They  come  high — but  we  must  have 
them !" 

His  tour  of  inspection  ended,  Harry  lighted  a 
cigar  and  rode  down  to  the  barns  on  the  front 
platform  of  the  car.  There  was  a  certain  exhilara- 
tion in  getting  toward  the  center  of  the  city  so 
swiftly — where  she  was.  He  had  formulated  no 
definite  plan  of  going  to  see  her  yet,  but  it  was  a 


54        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

pleasure  to  be  traveling  in  her  direction.  Seated 
at  last  upon  the  dummy  of  a  North  Clark  Street 
cable  car,  he  realized  as  never  before  How  slowly 
those  lumbering,  antiquated  bone-shakers  went.  His 
landmarks,  "Sees's,"  "Scroggs'  Million  Dollar 
Rheumatic  Cure,"  the  smell  of  the  tobacco  factory, 
seemed  to  be  whole  hours  apart.  And  this  feeling 
of  slowness  and  clumsiness  in  the  method  of  loco- 
motion was  aggravated  by  the  consciousness  that 
he  could  do  nothing  to  help  himself  along.  Lean- 
der,  swimming  the  Hellespont,  knew  nothing  of 
the  impatience  of  a  lover  going  to  his  fair  one  on 
a  North  Side  cable  car.  The  former  could  at  least 
expend  his  exuberant  eagerness  in  the  added  vigor 
of  his  stroke. 

But  Harry  was  treated  to  a  diversion.  As  the 
car  stopped  at  a  crossing,  a  raw  blast  came  down  a 
side  street  and  the  spray  of  an  advancing  storm 
whipped  him  in  the  face.  Throwing  away  his  cigar, 
Ke  swung  himself  along  the  foot-rest  by  the  stanch- 
ions of  the  dummy,  unhooked  the  chain  at  the  rear, 
and  passed  into  the  closed  car.  Among  the  occu- 
pants already  there  were  four  people,  two  men  and 
two  women,  reeking  of  cigarettes  and  whisky.  The 
men  were  youths,  mere  lads,  in  fact,  well  dressed 
and  bearing  every  evidence  of  being  supplied  with 
more  money  than  was  good  for  them.  They  were 


APRIL   HOPES  55 

blear-eyed,  with  the  moist,  blubbery  lips  that  fol- 
low a  nigHt  of  dissipation.  Their  collars  and  cuffs 
were  soiled,  and  both  of  them  yawned  frequently. 
One  was  a  manly,  frank-looking  fellow  with  a 
strong,  good  face ;  and  the  other  a  degenerate,  with 
a  small  chin,  bulging  forehead,  and  an  air  of  less 
resistance  to  fatigue. 

Of  the  two  women,  one  had  a  matronly  figure, 
and  wore  a  thick  veil.  A  velvet  jacket  trimmed 
with  mink,  gave  her  a  neat,  but  not  opulent,  ap- 
pearance. The  other  member  of  the  quartet  was  a 
tall  young  girl  who  had  tKe  wilted  look  of  a  rose 
that  has  lain  in  a  warm  room  for  several  hours 
after  being  broken  from  the  stem.  There  was 
about  her,  too,  a  faint  suggestion  of  "toughness." 
She  dismounted  at  the  next  corner,  and  the  de- 
generate jumped  to  tKe  street,  helpe'd  her  down, 
and  lifted  his  hat  as  sKe  passed  him  toward  the 
walk.  He  evidently  came  of  a  good  family,  so  far 
as  manners  were  concerned,  and  had  not  yet  learned 
to  despise  women — as  too  many  youths  do  in  the 
years  before  they  come  to  know  a  good  one. 

Harry  was  amused  at  the  "outfit,"  as  he  mentally 
called  it.  The  remaining  woman  and  her  escort 
seemed  to  be  on  terms  of  familiarity  without  being 
well  acquainted.  He  laid  his  hand  on  her  knee 
in  an  affectionate  manner^  and  asked  her  if  sKe  be- 


56        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

liered  in  an  anthropomorphic  God;  whereupon  she 
looked  at  him  blankly  and  asked. 

"What  in  the  world  is  that?  Have  you  gone 
crazy?" 

And  the  degenerate  yawned  and  muttered,  "Oh, 
come  off,  Jim.  Cheeze  it,  can't  you  ?" 

"I  wonder  if  they're  from  The  University  or 
the  Northwestern?"  reflected  Harry.  "Theological 
students,  probably,  out  on  a  lark — regular  old- 
fashioned  round-up." 

"How  slow  the  car  goes,"  remarked  the  woman, 
"I've  got  to  catch  a  ten  o'clock  train." 

"I'll  bet  there's  a  Husband  waiting  for  you !"  ex- 
claimed her  escort;  and  the  trio  laughed  as  at  the 
rarest  joke  imaginable.  They  all  got  off  at  Ohio 
Street. 

"There's  nothing  in  that  sort  of  thing,"  mused 
Harry,  passing  his  hand  up  and  down  his  fore- 
head where  the  hair  was  getting  thin.  "Takes  it 
out  of  a  man.  May  do  all  right  for  such  young 
chaps  as  they  are,  but  there's  nothing  in  it  for  me 
any  more." 

Then  he  felt  again  the  touch  of  red-gold  hair  on 
his  cheek  with  a  palpable  shiver.  He  looked  at  his 
watch'.  "Only  a  quarter  past  ten — I  don't  have  to 
show  up  at  the  office  for  an  Hour  yet.  God  thinks 
I'm  out  on  the  North  Side."  "God,"  it  may  be 


APRIL   HOPES  57 

necessary  to  explain,  was  Mr.  Chapin's  name  for  his 
employer. 

"I'll  make  a  brace,"  he  resolved.  "I'll  stroll  up 
and  ask  her  to  go  with  me  to  see  'Sag  Harbor/ 
She  can't  do  any  more  than  throw  me  down." 

His  resolve  once  made,  he  removed  his  hat  and 
combed  back  his  thinnish  black  locks  with  his  fin- 
gers. Then  he  carefully  set  his  hat  back  upon  his 
head,  gave  the  lapels  of  his  spring  overcoat  a  jerk 
or  two,  and  pulled  down  his  cuffs  with  the  tips 
of  his  fingers  and  the  mound  of  his  thumb.  De- 
scending at  Monroe  Street,  he  walked  rapidly 
toward  the  Emporium,  the  great  department  store 
where  Nellie  was  working. 


CHAPTER  V 

ASSURANCE  AT  LEAST 

He  pushed  open  a  storm  door,  and  two  or  three 
fat  women  with  bundles  in  their  arms  bumped  into 
him.  Then  a  boy  in  uniform  opened  another  door, 
and  Harry  was  in  the  Emporium,  a  vast  cara- 
vansary, where  anything  can  be  bought  from  a  pin 
to  a  home  on  the  instalment  plan.  He  was  dazzled 
for  a  moment,  as  the  electricity  Had  been  turned 
on  in  the  long  rows  of  big,  milk-white  globes.  He 
took  off  his  glasses,  wiped  the  rain  from  them,  and 
looked  around.  The  whole  place  smelled  strongly 
of  the  perfumery  and  fancy  soap  departments,  and, 
as  in  all  American  buildings  heated  by  modern 
methods,  the  warmth  was  oppressive.  Harry, 
from  the  nature  of  his  own  business,  was  familiar 
with  the  fact  that  tKe  Emporium  was  a  money 
winner  whose  profits  were  putting  up  great  apart- 
ment buildings  and  storage  rooms  all  over  the  city ; 
that  the  principal  partner,  whose  revenue  was  an 
incredible  number  of  millions  a  year,  was  a  comical 
58 


ASSURANCE   AT   LEAST  59 

old  Irish  lady  who  had  never  yet  awakened  to  a  real- 
ization of  the  great  possibilities  open  before  the 
humblest  woman  when  she  marries  a  Jew. 

Wherever  he  looked  there  was  an  array  of  tired 
girls,  each  marvelously  skilled  in  some  little  detail 
of  the  business.  Standing,  or,  in  rare  instances, 
sitting  behind  long  counters,  they  appeared  to  be 
animated  wax  figures,  cut  off  at  the  waist  or  neck. 
One  near  him  was  tying  little  bows  for  women's 
hair,  an  industry  necessitated  by  the  fad  of  the 
moment.  Another  was  selling  ribbons,  another  but- 
tons, another — but  a  dapper  individual  stepped  up 
to  him  and  asked  in  an  insinuating  manner : 

"Anybody  waiting  on  you,  sir?" 

Harry  flushed  guiltily  and  stammered,  "I — I  want 
to  go  to  the  cloak  department." 

The  man  took  a  few  steps  forward  and  pointed 
with  extended  arm,  saying: 

"Take  the  elevator;  get  off  at  the  second  floor." 

Dropping  his  arm  to  his  body  with  a  slap,  he 
walked  away.  Harry  started  briskly  in  the  direc- 
tion indicated,  and  came  into  a  huge  square  well,, 
cut  through  to  the  sky-light  far  above.  The  nu- 
merous floors  looked  like  balconies  from  where  he 
stood.  Great  rugs  and  carpets  cascaded  over  the 
upper  railings.  Some  were  of  such  size  that  they 
dropped  the  full  height  of  several  stories.  There 


60        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

was  a  continual  tapping  of  pencils  upon  glass  cases, 
and  a  sporadic  crying  of,  "Cash!  Here  cash!"  in 
flat,  querulous  tones.  A  big  fire-sign  advertised  a 
sale  of  March  furniture,  and  a  box-like  transpar- 
ency announced,  "The  Gordian  Knot — a  Big  Hit !" 
This  last  was  the  popular  novel  of  the  moment. 
Still  another  article,  that  seemed  from  the  promi- 
nence given  it  by  the  firm  to  be  as  good  a  seller  as 
the  novel,  was  a  corset  with  seams  running  around 
the  body.  A  bewildering  variety  of  goods  was 
displayed  on  counters  or  on  racks  and  frames, 
and  innumerable  square  banners  told  of  prices  by 
the  yard,  piece,  or  dozen.  A  veritable  mob  sur- 
rounded a  circular  soda-water  counter,  sipping  froth 
from  glasses,  or  spearing  with  tiny  spoons  at  the 
elusive  bits  of  ice-cream  floating  within.  Litera- 
ture, Easter  symbols,  ice-cream  soda,  corsets,  Turk- 
ish rugs,  soap,  buttons,  spring  underwear,  "Cash! 
Cash !  Here  cash !" — Harry  became  bewildered. 

"Anybody  waiting  on  you,  sir?"  asked  a  dapper 
individual. 

"I'm  looking  for  the  elevator,  but  I  seem  to  be  all 
mixed  up."  Again  the  two  or  three  courteous  steps, 
as  if  the  floor-walker  were  about  to  guide  him  per- 
sonally to  the  spot,  again  the  automatic  right  angle 
of  the  extended  arm.  Harry  found  himself  at  last 
in  one  of  the  ascending  cages,  crowded  so  closely 


ASSURANCE   AT   LEAST  61 

among  women  that  he  was  obliged  to  bend  his  neck 
backward  in  order  to  get  his  breath.  His  body 
was  stuck  in  among  their  soft,  scented  bodies  as  if 
sunk  in  a  warm  quick-sand.  A  hard  bundle  was 
pressed  against  his  side,  and  the  rough  edge  of  a 
wide  hat  sawed  his  face. 

"Second  floor !"  called  the  elevator  man.  "Cloaks, 
suits,  millinery,  ladies'  and  children's  underwear, 
men's  and  boys'  clothing !" 

"Ladies'  cloaks  ?"  asked  Harry. 

"Cloaks,  suits,  millinery,"  replied  the  man,  with 
parrot-like  insistence. 

Harry  fought  his  way  out  of  the  feminine  quick- 
sand and  paused  a  moment  to  smooth  down  his  ruf- 
fled feathers.  A  phonograph  somewhere  was  dis- 
coursing a  Sousa  march  in  ghostly,  metallic  tones. 
In  the  distance  was  a  banner  advertising  a  spring 
sale  of  misses'  box  reefers.  He  thought  they  must 
be  some  sort  of  cloak  and  stepped  briskly  down 
an  aisle  in  that  direction.  He  did  not  wish  to  ask 
for  the  cloak  department  again. 

"If  they  knew  I  didn't  want  to  buy  anything,  that 
I  had  come  to  jolly  one  of  the  girls,  they  wouldn't 
stand  for  it,"  he  mused. 

Nellie  was  nowhere  in  the  vicinity  of  the  box 
reefers,  but  away  over  yonder  was  another  sign 
calling  attention  to  some  extra  inducement  in  con- 


62        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

nection  with  ladies'  cloaks.  With  beating  heart  He 
went  toward  it.  A  small,  thin  girl,  with  light  hair, 
frizzed  and  browned  in  front  from  too  great  devo- 
tion to  the  curling  iron,  was  admiring  herself  in  a 
full-length  mirror.  She  turned  to  look  at  Harry, 
and  he  noticed  that  a  cord  in  her  neck  stood  out 
taut,  stretching  the  skin  like  the  ridge-pole  of  a 
tent. 

Carrie  Vinne  stepped  languidly  toward  him  with 
the  formula,  "Anybody  waiting  on  you  ?" 

"I  want  to  see  Miss  Aikin,"  said  Harry;  "I'm  a 
friend  of  hers." 

A  sudden  light  flooded  Carrie's  consciousness 
and  illuminated  her  features. 

"I'll  tell  her!"  she  cried  with  animation,  skipping 
away.  This  was  much  more  interesting  than  sell- 
ing goods ! 

"Nellie,"  she  whispered  mysteriously  to  tKe  model, 
who  was  conversing  with  the  "fore-lady"  of  the 
millinery  department,  "Nellie,  your  friend's  come !" 

Nellie  came  majestically  across  the  floor,  walking 
on  the  balls  of  her  feet.  She  seemed  a  queen  in  a 
palace  to  Harry ;  the  great  coil  of  red-gold  hair  set 
squarely  on  top  of  her  head  was  her  crown. 

"Why,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Chapin,"  sKe  said 
sweetly,  extending  her  hand  high  up. 

"Mr.  Chapin,  this  is  my  friend,  Miss  Vinne." 


ASSURANCE   AT   LEAST  63 

"Glad  to  meet  you,"  chorused  Harry  and  Carrie. 

"Have  you  seen  the  Hutchinses  lately?"  asked 
Nellie.  "He's  such  a  nice  man." 

"He's  the  best  ever,"  assented  Harry.  "And  so's 
his  wife.  I  like  Mrs.  Hutchins  even  better  than  I 
do  him." 

"Well,  tKat's  natural,"  laughed  Carrie,  "that  your 
friend,  being  a  gentleman,  should  like  the  lady  best. 
Why  don't  you  ask  your  friend  to  sit  down,  Nel- 
lie ?  It's  just  as  cheap  as  standing." 

"No,  no,  thank  you,"  objected  Harry,  glancing 
about  nervously  to  see  if  anybody  had  come  to  be 
waited  on.  "I  just  wanted  to  see  you  for  a  minute. 
I  wanted  to  ask  you  if  you  wouldn't  go  to  the 
theater  with  me.  They  say  there's  a  good  bill  on 
at  the  Grand  this  week — Bobby  Gaylor — he's  fun- 
nier than  a  goat.  Or  maybe  you'd  rather  go  see 
Anna  Held.  She's  all  the  rage  now,  or — or — they 
say — 'Sag  Harbor'  is  fine." 

"Oh,  do  go !"  cried  Carrie.  "Gee !  I  wish  some- 
body'd  ask  me  to  go  to  a  theater.  They  wouldn't 
have  to  ask  twice !" 

Nellie  hesitated  a  moment,  looking  shrewdly  at 
Harry,  out  of  hazel  eyes  with  a  reddish  gleam  in 
them.  The  under  lids  came  up  a  little  till  they 
were  nearly  covered  with  the  fringe  of  yellow-brown 
lashes  dropping  down  from  above.  Her  eyes  be- 


64        THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

came  mere  slits,  and  she  gave  him  the  furtive  glance 
of  the  cat  that  seems  half-asleep  when  it  is  most 
awake.  This  man  was  in  earnest,  sure.  He  was 
fumbling  with  his  hat  awkwardly,  and  there  was  an 
expression  of  intense  anxiety  on  his  thin,  sallow 
face. 

"Don't  refuse,"  he  pleaded,  changing  from  one 
foot  to  the  other.  "We  shall— I  shall,  at  least,  pass 
such  an  enjoyable  evening." 

"Couldn't  we  go  somewhere  else?"  asked  Nellie. 
"I  don't  care  for  Bobby  Gaylor  or  Anna  Held." 

"Anywhere  you  like !"  cried  Harry  eagerly. 

Nellie  thought  a  moment.  Her  mind  reverted  to 
"Quo  Vadis"  and  "Cyrano,"  but  neither  was  play- 
ing in  town  at  that  time. 

"Couldn't  we  go  to  Powers'  to  see  'The  Ambassa- 
dor ?' "  she  asked.  "I  want  to  see  something  in- 
structive, something  improving  to  my  mind." 

"Oh,  certainly,  of  course,"  assented  Harry,  who 
would  have  been  just  as  enthusiastic  had  she  men- 
tioned spiritual  instead  of  mental  culture  as  the  main 
object  of  the  theater.  "One  must  always  improve 
their  mind  whenever  they  get  a  chance.  Shall  we 
make  it  to-morrow  evening,  at  seven-thirty?  I'll 
call  for  you." 

"With  pleasure.  I  suppose  the  invitation  includes 
Miss  Vinne?" 


Couldn't  we  go  to  see 
"The  Ambassador" 


ASSURANCE   AT   LEAST  65 

Harry's  face  fell.  "Oh,  certainly,"  he  stammered, 
"that  goes  without  saying.  Didn't  I  mention  Miss 
Vinne  ?" 

"Miss  Aikin,  Miss  Aikin,"  called  a  saleswoman. 
"Will  you  step  this  way  just  a  moment?" 

With  an  "Excuse  me,  please,"  Nellie  was  gone. 
A  moment  later  Harry  saw  her  attired  in  a  silver- 
colored,  brocaded  opera  cloak,  trimmed  with  chiffon 
and  chinchilla.  It  had  wide  flowing  sleeves,  and 
the  fur  collar  turned  up  on  each  side  of  her  face 
brought  its  silver  gray  into  contrast  with  the  gold 
of  her  hair.  At  the  end  of  a  short  beat  she  turned 
with  all  the  majesty  of  a  queen  and  swept  a  little 
way  in  the  direction  of  Harry  and  Carrie. 

"See  that  old  frump  in  the  chair?"  whispered  the 
latter.  "She's  got  a  figure  like  a  sack  of  potatoes. 
She  imagines  the  coat  would  look  on  her  like  it  does 
on  Nellie." 

"So  it  would — nit!"  laughed  Harry.  "But  isn't 
this  a  kind  of  a  pea-and-shell  game?  Anything 
would  look  well  on  Miss  Aikin." 

"Guess  you  think  so,"  said  the  girl  shyly.  "Look 
here,  you  don't  have  to  take  me  along  to-morrow 
night.  Nellie  is  so  strict.  She  won't  go  out  alone 
with  a  gentleman.  You're  in  luck  that  she  accepted 
your  invitation  at  all." 


66        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

But  Chapin  had  quite  warmed  to  the  frizzled  lit- 
tle woman  who  was  looking  up  into  his  face. 

"You  come  right  along,"  he  said,  "I  really  want 
you  to.  I'm  a  smooth  party,  you  see.  I  have  to 
be  solid  with  you ;  you're  Miss  Aikin's  chum !" 

"Oh,  that's  it,  eh?  Well,  I'll  say  a  good  word 
for  you."  Harry  cast  one  more  glance  at  the  stately 
figure  in  the  opera  cloak,  and  bidding  Carrie,  "good 
by  till  to-morrow  night,"  he  went  away. 

"Anna  Held!"  he  muttered  with  indignation. 
"Anna  Held  is  a  cow  compared  with  her.  Isn't  in 
her  class  at  all." 

"Daown,  going  daown  ?" 

As  he  stepped  into  the  elevator,  the  phonograph 
called  after  him  in  the  nasal  drawl  of  a  well-known 
actor  of  rustic  roles :  "The  feller  that  gits  onter 
the  floor  fust  shall  kiss  tHe  purtiest  girl  in  the  room 
— ah,  ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!"  And  followed  by  that 
spectral  laughter,  he  left  the  place,  moistening  his 
dry  lips  with  his  tongue,  and  wondering  how  he 
should  be  able  to  wait  till  to-morrow  nigKt. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   MATCHMAKING 

The  theater  party  was  a  success  all  around. 
Harry  enjoyed  it  because  it  gave  him  several  hours 
in  the  society  of  the  girl  with  the  red-gold  hair,  and 
Nellie  because  she  found  "The  Ambassador"  a  high- 
toned  performance  that  seemed  a  thing  really  worth 
talking  about.  As  for  little  Carrie  Vinne,  though 
she  would  have  preferred  Anna  Held,  she  was  rec- 
ompensed by  the  fact  that  the  costumes  worn  by  the 
"Ambassador"  people  were  "perfectly  lovely." 

But  one  has  little  chance  to  make  love  at  a  theater 
party  of  three,  after  all.  True,  Harry  invited  the 
girls  down  to  Rector's  after  the  show,  but  not 
even  there  did  he  find  the  least  opportunity  even 
to  cast  a  sentimental  glance  in  the  direction  of 
the  fair  one.  Trie  place  was  crowded,  and  the 
blaze  of  vulgarly  redundant  electric  lights  reflected 
in  a  wilderness  of  mirrors  gave  glaring  pub- 
licity to  every  detail  of  the  meal.  So  Harry  did 
some  deep  thinking,  with  all  that  astuteness  of  per- 


68        THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

ception  and  facility  of  resource  common  to  madmen 
and  lovers,  and  hit  upon  an  excellent  expedient. 
He  went  to  his  friend  Crissey  and  asked  for  an  in- 
vitation to  dinner  for  himself  and  Miss  Aikin. 
Crissey  did  not  fail  him;  and  Miss  Aikin  gladly 
accepted  a  written  invitation  to  accompany  Mr. 
Chapin  to  the  Crisseys'  on  Sunday  for  the  noon- 
day meal.  This  was  the  sort  of  thing  that  sHe 
had  dreamed  of. 

Harry  called  for  Nellie  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  she 
was  ready  to  come  down  as  soon  as  he  rang.  In 
fact,  she  had  been  ready  for  some  time,  as  she  did 
not  know  what  could  be  done  with  him  should  it 
be  necessary  to  invite  him  in.  The  lodging  house 
had  no  public  reception  room.  The  weather  had 
relapsed,  and  there  was  a  blizzard  on.  Harry 
turned  up  the  collar  of  his  coat  as  he  stood  on  the 
icy  steps,  mentally  commenting  that  "these  raglan 
coats  may  be  swell,  but  they're  not  warm." 

"Is  Miss  Aikin  in?"  he  asked,  as  a  nondescript 
girl,  neither  lady  nor  servant,  virtuous  nor  disrepu- 
table, the  landlady's  daughter,  in  fact,  opened  the 
door. 

"Is  that  you,  Mr.  Chapin  ?"  called  a  voice  from  the 
upper  landing  that  sent  a  thrill  of  warmth  through 
Harry's  veins.  "I'm  coming  right  down."  In  an- 
other moment  she  was  standing  on  the  threshold, 


A    MATCHMAKING  69 

too  radiant  an  apparition,  her  admirer  felt,  to 
emerge  from  so  cheerless  a  hall  with  its  acrid  smell. 
She  wore  a  neat  cloth  coat  and  the  brown  hat,  and 
she  had  about  her  neck  a  collaret  of  brown  marten 
fur. 

"Isn't  it  a  perfectly  abominable  day?"  she  ex- 
claimed, putting  her  muff  up  to  her  throat,  as  the 
wind  threw  a  handful  of  snow  at  her  face. 

"You'll  both  get  snowed  under,"  cried  the  land- 
lady's daughter,  closing  the  door. 

"Kind  of  a  con  game  on  the  part  of  tKe  weather 
man,"  assented  Harry.  "But  I  like  it — it  stirs  up 
a  man's  blood  and  relieves  the  monotony.  Look  out, 
or  you'll  slip  on  the  steps,"  and  he  solicitously  took 
her  by  the  arm.  He  could  not  help  noticing  through 
all  her  clothing  that  it  was  round  and  firm,  and  the 
discovery,  or  confirmation,  rather,  made  him  feel 
cool  about  the  roots  of  his  hair. 

"Crissey  lives  out  on  Humboldt  Boulevard,  on 
the  West  Side,"  explained  Harry.  "We'll  take  a 
State,  transfer  on  Clark,  and  then  again  on  North 
Avenue."  Opening  his  umbrella,  he  held  her  close 
to  him,  and  so  they  pushed  their  way  against  the 
wind,  laughing  and  chatting  merrily. 

"It's  going  out  like  a  lion,"  observed  Nellie,  catch- 
ing her  breath.  Horizontal  lines  of  snow  were 
driving  by.  Big,  soft  flakes  adhered  to  their  cloth- 


70        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

ing,  beautiful  single  crystals,  or  fluffy  clusters  like 
bits  of  cotton.  When  the  fickle  wind  died  for  a  mo- 
ment the  air  was  thick  with'  innumerable  white 
lances  plunging  downward  at  an  oblique  angle,  while 
here  and  there  bevies  of  lighter  flakes  swirled  up- 
ward, as  if  rebounding  from  tKe  earth.  The  trees, 
on  the  side  facing  the  wind,  had  white  lines  along 
the  center  of  their  trunks  and  greater  limbs,  with 
the  dark  brown  of  the  bark  showing  on  either 
side.  A  yard  filled  with  lilac  bushes  resembled 
a  bit  of  fairy  land.  The  shrubs,  on  which  the 
bursting  buds  had  been  visible  only  a  few  days  be- 
fore, were  now  all  in  white,  as  though  they  had  sud- 
denly burst  into  a  profusion  of  bloom. 

"See  tKere!"  cried  Harry,  enthusiastically, 
"doesn't  that  remind  you  of  those  little  kaleido- 
scopes you  used  to  look  into  when  you  were  a  child  ? 
Sort  of  ghostly  and  unreal  ?" 

"It's  more  like  the  trees  and  things  we  used  to 
make  in  a  fruit  jar,"  replied  Nellie.  "There  were  wire 
skeletons  inside,  and  we  put  alum  in,  and  it  settled 
on  the  wire  and  made  white  men  and  trees  and — 
and — things." 

The  air  and  sky  were  milk-white.  The  fops  of 
the  houses  and  of  the  street  cars  were  sugar-coated 
with  snow,  and  the  telegraph  wires  were  long  ropes 
of  frayed  cotton.  They  scrambled  on  to  the  tail 


A   MATCHMAKING  71 

of  a  nortH-bound  trolley,  and  Nellie  unfastened  the 
collaret  from  her  neck  to  shake  the  snow  from  it. 
Harry  gave  her  coat  one  or  two  passes  with  his 
handkerchief  as  she  stepped  into  the  car. 

"If  it  melts  on,  you'll  take  cold,"  he  explained 
when  she  did  not  wait  for  the  attention. 

The  Crisseys  lived  in  a  frame  house,  with  a 
pointed  tower  at  one  corner  somewhat  resembling 
a  steeple.  There  were  two  uprights,  both  facing  the 
street,  and  standing  side  by  side;  one  was  lower 
than  the  other  and  farther  back,  giving  the  architect- 
ural effect  of  a  mother  house  with  its  young.  The 
maid  came  to  the  door,  followed  closely  by  Crissey, 
who  would  have  opened  it  himself  had  not  his  wife 
despatched  Lena  with  much  haste  and  trepidation. 
Crissey  had  been  so  busy  of  late  years  that  he  did 
not  know  that  Americans  no  longer  open  their  own 
doors  to  admit  guests. 

"Come  in,"  he  cried  heartily,  "and  shake  your- 
selves off.  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Aikin?  Let  me 
help  you  with  your  cloak." 

"Isn't  this  a  corker  ?"  exclaimed  Harry,  referring 
to  the  weather.  They  stepped  into  a  reception  room 
where  a  pleasant  grate  fire  was  burning.  Through 
one  door  they  looked  into  a  parlor,  where  the  most 
conspicuous  objects  were  a  piano  and  an  oil  painting 
of  Mrs.  Crissey's  father,  whose  roundi  toothless 


72        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

mouth  was  so  tightly  closed  that  wrinkles  ran  out 
in  all  directions  like  spokes  of  a  wheel.  Another 
door  opened  into  Crissey's  study,  where  could  be 
seen  an  easy  chair,  upholstered  in  leather,  shelves 
filled  with  rows  of  books,  and  a  table  on  which  stood 
a  drop-light  with  a  green  shade. 

Mrs.  Crissey  came  in,  a  two-year-old  girl  hiding 
in  a  fold  of  her  dress.  The  little  one  hid  behind  her 
mother's  leg  as  though  it  were  a  post,  and  peeped 
around  it  at  the  guests,  a  fleeting  apparition  of 
tousled  white  hair,  fat  cheeks  wearing  a  splash  of 
raspberry  jam,  and  monstrous  blue  eyes.  Another 
girl  of  four,  in  a  blue  and  white  pinafore,  with  pink 
ribbons  tied  in  her  hair,  stood  in  the  hall  door  hold- 
ing a  doll  by  the  leg;  and  in  the  deeper  vista  was 
a  boy  of  nine,  with  his  arms  held  stiffly  at  his  sides, 
and  a  nervous  look  on  his  face  as  though  he  were 
trying  to  remember  previous  instructions  about  con- 
duct. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Chapin?"  said  Mrs.  Cris- 
sey, holding  out  her  right  hand,  while  she  pulled 
the  fallen  little  one  to  its  legs  with  her  left. 

"Dorothy,  this  is  Miss  Aikin,"  said  Mr.  Crissey, 
and  the  two  women  shook  hands. 

"Disagreeable  weather,  isn't  it,"  remarked  Nel- 
lie, taking  a  proffered  seat. 

"Too  horrid  for  anything." 


A    MATCHMAKING  73 

Mrs.  Crissey  dragged  the  little  Dorothy  from  the 
fold  of  her  dress  and  set  the  child  on  her  knee. 

"Ah  there!"  cried  Harry,  "ah  there!  Look  out! 
Don't  you  make  goo-goo  eyes  at  me."  Going  up  to 
the  little  one,  he  pinched  her  gently  with  each  word, 
talking  baby  talk,  "I'll  tell  your — mama — on — you 
— ,  and  she  won't  stand  for  it,  not  a  minute." 

The  baby  bubbled  over  with  laughter,  and  Harry 
tossed  her  in  the  air,  crying,  "Oop-te-day." 

"Isn't  it  remarkable,"  said  Mrs.  Crissey,  "the  way 
Dorothy  takes  to  Mr.  Chapin?  I  assure  you," 
turning  to  Harry,  "you're  the  only  person  outside 
of  the  family  she  isn't  afraid  of." 

"Oh,  she's  onto  her  job  all  right,  Dorothy  is," 
laughed  Harry.  "She's  got  good  judgment — ahem. 
No,  the  fact  of  the  matter  is,  Mrs.  Crissey,  that  chil- 
dren are  like  dogs :  they  know  by  instinct  when 
people  really  like  'em.  Hello,  there's  tKe  other  one. 
Come  here,  Molly." 
I  ain't  Molly." 

"Yes  you  are,  Molly  Jane  Jones." 

"No  I  ain't.  I'm  Agnes  Matilder  Cwissey,  an' 
I  live  at  ninety-four  Humboldt  Bouldevard." 

"All  right.  Well,  come  here,  Agnes  Matilder, 
and  let  me  see  your  doll." 

The  child  advanced  without  hesitation  and  ex- 
tended the  doll,  head  down. 


74        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"She's  lost  she's  eyes,"  she  explained.  "I  poked 
'em  wiz  a  pencil,  and  they  corned  right  out.  They're 
in  there."  She  sKook  the  doll,  and  the  loose  eyes 
rattled  inside  the  head. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  said  Harry.  "You  put 
her  in  my  overcoat  pocket  out  there  in  the  hall, 
and  I'll  take  her  to  the  doll-hospital  and  get  her  eyes 
fixed." 

Agnes  looked  inquiringly  at  her  mother,  who 
said: 

"You'd  better  do  as  Mr.  CHapin  says,  Aggie  dear, 
and  he'll  bring  Lucinda  back  with"  her  eyes  as  good 
as  ever." 

"Surely  pop?" 

"Surely  pop,"  said  Harry. 

"He'll  take  her  to  the  housepittal  ?" 

Assured  on  this  point,  and  also  that  he  would 
bring  her  back,  the  child  went  out  into  the  hall  and 
stuffed  Lucinda  into  Chapin's  overcoat  pocket. 

"Where's  Jim  ?"  asked  Harry. 

"James  dear !"  called  the  mother,  and  the  boy  ad- 
vanced into  the  room;  walking  straight  up  to  Nel- 
lie, he  stood  very  close  to  her,  stiff  as  a  totem  pole, 
looking  over  her  head  with  unseeing  eyes. 

"This  is  my  son,  Mr.  James  Crissey,"  said  Cris- 
sey  whimsically,  and  Jim  extended  his  arm  automat- 
ically, allowing  his  hand  to  hang  limp  at  the  wrist. 


A   MATCHMAKING  75 

Nellie  shook  the  hand,  and  Jim  said  in  a  sepulchral 
tone,  "I'm  glad  to  meet  you,"  after  which  he  turned 
about  until  he  was  exactly  facing  Harry,  for  whom 
he  made  a  bee  line.  Arrived,  he  again  extended 
the  limp  hand.  Harry  seized  it  and  gave  it  a  sud- 
den jerk,  nearly  throwing  Jim  off  his  feet. 

"Hello,  John  L.,"  he  said.  Then  he  whispered 
something  in  Jim's  ear : 

"How  did  you  come  off  with  that  boy  that  was 
going  to  lick  you  ?" 

"Say!"  blurted  out  Jim  in  a  perfectly  natural 
voice,  "ye  ought  to've  seen  me  soak  'um !" 

"Now,  Mr.  Chapin,"  cried  Mrs.  Crissey,  "I  believe 
you  are  responsible  for  a  good  deal  of  Jim's  badness. 
He's  getting  to  be  a  terrible  fighter.  I've  had  to 
threaten  to  whip  him  if  he  fights  any  more.  He 
gets  his  clothes  torn  and  his  nose  all  bloody.  He 
came  in  one  day  last  week  a  perfect  sight." 

"How's  this,  John  L. ?"  laughed  Harry;  "this 
don't  seem  to  be  one-sided  after  all.  The  other 
fellow's  right  there  while  you  are  slugging  him, 
and  then  mother  gives  you  a  whipping  when  you 
come  home." 

"Huh,"  said  Jim,  sullenly;  "I  take  ma's  lickin' 
out'n  the  other  feller,  too." 

Crissey  laughed  heartily.  "There,  there,  Doro- 
thy, don't  mind,"  he  said.  "Jim  takes  after  me. 


76        THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

I  was  a  fighter,  too,  when  I  was  a  boy — am  yet, 
for  that  matter.  Jim'll  come  out  all  right,  you  see 
if  he  doesn't.  Do  you  know,  Miss  Aikin,  that  the 
boy  has  quite  a  fine  idea  of  justice,  and  that  he  never 
picks  a  quarrel  or  imposes  on  lads  smaller  than 
himself  ?" 

"How  very  interesting!"  exclaimed  Nellie. 

"Excuse  me,  please,"  said  Mrs.  Crissey,  "while 
I  go  and  see  what  has  become  of  our  dinner.  I 
warrant  you  are  all  starved  half  to  death." 

"Here,  John  L.,  let  me  feel  your  muscle,"  whis- 
pered Harry. 

A  moment  later  Lena  appeared  in  the  door  of  the 
reception  room,  announcing  dinner ;  and  Agnes  Ma- 
tilda wandered  in  with  her  hands  clasped  behind 
her  back  and  her  little  face  in  the  air,  chanting  in 
a  high,  humdrum  voice,  "Dinner's  weady,  dinner's 
weady,  dinner's  weady — "  a  song  which  con- 
tinued even  after  she  had  been  placed  in  her  high 
chair,  and  which  only  ceased  after  stern  sotto- 
voce  threats  of  ignominious  removal  to  the  kitchen. 
Mrs.  Crissey  took  her  place  at  one  end  of  the  table, 
flanked  on  her  left  by  a  row  of  childish  faces — the 
baby  next  her,  then  Agnes  Matilda,  then  the  pugna- 
cious Jim.  Harry  and  Nellie  sat  at  her  right,  and 
Crissey  took  his  accustomed  place  at  the  foot. 

Mrs.   Crissey   was  a  sweet  little  woman,   with 


A    MATCHMAKING  77 

traces  of  care  on  her  still  youthful  face,  and  hands 
that  showed  evident  signs  of  work.  Her  complex- 
ion was  still  good,  but  the  red  in  her  cheeks  had 
dwindled  to  the  smallest,  palest  patches ;  and  there 
were  lines  of  care  about  her  eyes  and  mouth' — 
lines,  however,  that  did  not  detract  from  the  sweet- 
ness of  her  expression,  for  they  were  evidently 
traced  by  the  finger  of  love  and  eager  sacrifice. 
There  was  a  tiny  blotch  of  white  hair  over  her  fore- 
head that  lay  among  the  soft  brown  of  her  still 
abundant  locks  as  a  patch  of  snow  upon  the  ground 
in  early  autumn.  Yet  who  shall  say  that  Dorothy 
Crissey  was  in  the  autumn  of  her  days  albeit  her 
position  as  mother  of  a  sufficiently  large  family 
gave  her  a  matronly  air?  She  was  in  reality  in  her 
thirtieth  year.  Her  eyes  were  gray,  and  a  trifle 
too  close  together  for  beauty.  They  were  serious 
eyes,  soft  and  tender ;  and  she  had  a  way  of  holding 
her  chin  a  trifle  down  and  looking  up  at  you  when 
she  talked.  Her  eyebrows  were  straight  and  deli- 
cately penciled,  save  for  a  cunning  little  wave  in  the 
one  on  the  left.  She  wore  her  hair  parted  plainly 
in  the  middle  and  drawn  back  over  the  tips  of  her 
ears,  ears  which  were,  perhaps,  a  little  too  large. 
At  least,  a  spiteful  schoolmate  had  told  her  so  in 
early  girlhood  and  had  caused  her  to  tuck  th'e  topsr 
of  them  for  a  life-time  beneath'  her  Hair.  Her  . 


78        THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

nose  was  small,  and  her  upper  lip  at  the  center  of 
the  bow  a  trifle  prominent;  yet  her  mouth  was 
her  sweetest  feature.  It  will  be  seen  that  there 
was  nothing  Grecian  about  this  little  woman, 
whose  virtues  and  charm  were  all  of  the  domestic 
— the  American  domestic — order.  The  one  thing 
about  her  that  was  most  unmistakable  and  redolent 
was  femininity;  and  yet  her  face  was  rounded  out 
by  a  good  strong  chin  that  spoke  of  individual  will 
and  the  power  to  do  and  to  suffer.  She  was  dressed 
in  a  dark  blue  serge  with  white  collar  and  cuffs. 

The  dinner  proceeded  without  much  talk.  There 
was  oyster  soup,  a  good  honest  roast  of  beef,  a 
salad,  and  a  brick  of  ice-cream,  brought  in  from 
the  drug  store  on  the  corner.  Mrs.  Crissey  was 
busy  much  of  the  time  feeding  the  two  babies. 
Once  she  asked  Nellie  if  she  did  not  think  Curler's 
milk  a  blessing,  and  Nellie  confessed  that  she  did 
not  know  what  it  was,  whereupon  the  mother  de- 
clared that  she  could  not  live  without  it.  Nellie 
was  in  a  somewhat  embarrassing  position  and  could 
not  think  of  anything  to  say.  She  repeated  one  or 
two  of  John  Oliver  Hobbes'  aphorisms  from  "The 
Ambassador"  rather  inconsequentially;  and  Harry, 
who  did  not  remember  having  heard  them  before, 
was  confirmed  in  his  admiration  for  her  intellect. 
She  was  in  deep  water  when  Mrs.  Crissey  talked 


A    MATCHMAKING  79 

to  her  about  the  children,  and  as  for  talking 
to  them,  it  would  have  been  easier  for  her  to  con- 
verse with  Professor  Garner's  monkeys.  Harry 
had  now  become  a  great  wit  in  the  eyes  of  the  little 
folk,  and  they  laughed  outrageously  whenever  he 
opened  his  mouth.  Once  Agnes  Matilda,  with  her 
mouth  full  of  mashed  potato,  gave  sudden  vent  to 
a  flood  of  volubility. 

"Sometimes  tlie  silderns  comes  over  to  play  with 
me,  Bessie  and  Dell  Lau — teryung — and  we  play, 
'London  Bwidge  is  falling  down,  falling  down, 
falling  down ;  London  Bwidge  is  falling  down,  fall- 
ing down,  falling  down  ;  London  Bwidge  is — '  " 

"Aggie,  in  heaven's  name!"  cried  Mr.  Crissey. 
"Dorothy,  can't  you  stop  that  child?  If  she  gets 
started  on  that  once,  she  may  keep  it  up  all  day." 

"Agnes !"  commanded  the  mother,  leaning  over 
and  shaking  the  child,  who  had  kept  right  on,  "if 
you  don't  stop  that,  you  can't  have  any  ice-cream." 

"My  pair  lady !"  concluded  Agnes.  "I'll  be  good, 
mama,  oh,  I'll  be  good,  mama." 

Harry  laughed  immoderately,  and  Nellie  mur- 
mured, "Children  are  so  interesting !" 

"What's  this?"  asked  Crissey,  as  Lena  brought 
on  something  in  small  dishes.  "Oranges  ?" 

"Taste  it,  and  see  Kow  you  like  it,"  replied  his 
wife.  "It's  orange  salad.  I  got  the  recipe  out  of 


8o        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

this  morning's  paper.  How  do  you  like  it,  Miss 
Aikin?" 

It  was  one  of  those  abominable  dishes  which  we 
Americans  perpetrate  under  the  absurd  name  of 
salad — in  the  present  instance,  sliced  oranges,  let- 
tuce, peanuts  and  garlic,  with  olive  oil. 

"It  is  delicious,"  replied  Nellie,  tasting  it  judicial- 
ly, thougfi  she  ate  none  of  it. 

"As  for  me,"  commented  Crissey,  "I  prefer  my 
lettuce  in  a  Christian  manner,  with  vinegar  and 
sugar." 

Jim  and  Harry  were  the  only  ones  at  the  table 
who  actually  ate  their  portions ;  Harry  out  of  good 
nature,  and  Jim  by  strength  of  a  boy's  indiscrimi- 
nating  appetite. 

Little  Dorothy  and  Agnes  set  up  such  a  fearful 
howling  for  more  ice-cream  that  Mrs.  Crissey 
was  obliged  to  leave  the  table  early.  Dorothy  Sec- 
ond went  to  sleep  straightway,  and  Agnes  was  in- 
duced to  stay  a  little  while  in  the  kitchen  with 
Lena. 

Mrs.  Crissey  talked  to  Nellie  while  the  men 
smoked  in  Crissey's  study. 

"Have  you  read  The  Gordian  Knot?'  "  asked  Nel- 
lie, referring  to  the  novel  advertised  on  the  depart- 
ment store  transparency.  Mrs.  Crissey  had  not  even 


A   MATCHMAKING  81 

heard  of  it,  and  Nellie  declared  that  it  was  almost 
impossible  to  keep  up  with"  all  the  latest  successes. 

"I  am  now  reading  Tolstoi's  'Resurrection/  "  she 
added.  "Don't  you  think  it  is  perfectly  grand  ?" 

Mrs.  Crissey  had  not  read  "The  Resurrection." 

"I  don't  get  much  time  for  reading,"  she  ex- 
plained. "I  am  busy  with  the  children  from  the 
time  Aggie  and  Dorothy  wake  up  in  the  morn- 
ing until  bed-time.  First,  the  little  ones  have  to 
be  dressed  and  given  their  breakfasts,  then  I  have 
to  get  them  ready  for  school  and  take  Aggie  to  the 
kindergarten ;  then  I  have  to  superintend  the  getting 
of  lunch  and  dinner,  and,  between  times,  there  is 
mending  and  a  hundred  little  things  to  be  'tended 
to!" 

"I  shouldn't  think  you'd  get  much  time  to  culti- 
vate your  mind,"  said  Nellie,  sympathetically. 

"I  don't,"  laughed  Mrs.  Crissey,  merrily,  as 
though  it  were  the  best  joke  in  the  world.  "Ed- 
ward does  enough  of  that  for  both  of  us.  My  hus- 
band is  a  great  student,"  she  continued,  with  a 
note  of  pride  in  her  voice.  "He  sits  up  and  pores 
over  his  musty  old  law  books  or  writes  till  all 
hours  of  the  night.  My  Husband  laugKs  at  my 
books — what  few  I  have,"  and  she  took  a  volume 
from  the  center-table.  "I  bought  this  because  every- 


82        THE  LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

body  is  talking  about  it,  but  I  can't  get  interested  in 
it  to  save  my  life.  It's  a  dollar  and  a  half  book, 
and  I  got  it  for  ninety-seven  cents." 

Nellie  strolled  about  tHe  room  and  picked  up 
the  half  dozen  volumes  that  she  found  lying  about, 
and  glanced  at  their  titles.  Besides  the  "ninety- 
seven  cent  one,"  there  was  "David  Harum,"  Riley's 
"Home  Folks,"  a  "Life  of  Dwight  L.  Moody,"  tHe 
inevitable  "Lucile,"  and  a  center-table  edition  of 
Longfellow. 

"I  can't  understand  what  people  are  making  such 
a  fuss  over  that  'David  Harum'  for/'  remarked 
Mrs.  Crissey,  following  Nellie  about.  "Just  an  ig- 
norant old  Yankee  horse  trader.  Now,  here's  a 
book  that  I  did  like.  Dorothy  rolled  down  the  base- 
ment steps  while  I  was  reading  it,  and  Agnes  nearly 
fell  out  tlie  front  window.  I  don't  know  what 
would  become  of  th~e  children  if  I  should  get  hold 
of  another  sucH  book,"  and  she  laughed  again.  "You 
have  to  keep  your  eyes  on  the  little  dears  every 
moment,  or  something  is  sure  to  happen  to  them; 
and  when  they  are  the  quietest  they  are  either  in 
the  greatest  danger  or  the  most  mischief.  This 
is  tlie  sweetest  story,"  extending  a  book  to  Nellie. 
"It's  all  about  a  princess  wKo  married  a  king,  but 
remained  true  all  the  same  to  a  young  knight,  and 
became  his  wife  in  the  end.  I  like  to  read  about 
grincesseSj  don't  you?  Especially  when  the  book 


A   MATCHMAKING  83 

makes  you  feel  that  tfiey're  just  the  same  as  other 
women,  after  all." 

"It  must  be  a  great  privilege  to  live  with  such 
a  brainy,  brilliant  man  as  your  husband,"  remarked 
Nellie. 

"Oh,  Edward  is  the  best  man  in  tfie  world,**"  re- 
plied the  wife,  eagerly  and  warmly,  giving  Nellie 
a  grateful  look  from  lier  serious  gray  eyes.  "He's 
as  good  and  noble  as  he  is  talented,  but  I  don't  get 
a  chance  to  see  much  of  him  these  days.  When  he 
isn't  busy  with  politics  or  a  case  at  court,  he  is 
working  on  a  horrid  book  that  he  is  writing — 
something  on  contracts,  or  corporations,  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort.  I  couldn't  understand  it  if  he 
were  to  explain  it  to  me.  It  is  all  I  can  do  to  keep 
the  children  quiet  wHen  he  is  writing.  He  tells 
me  if  I  succeed  in  doing  that  I  shall  have  done  as 
much  toward  the  book  as  he  Has,  and  that  he  will  be 
quite  willing  to  dedicate  it  to  me."  And  she 
laughed  again.  Mrs.  Crissey's  laugh,  by  the  way, 
was  the  most  cheerful  and  infectious  sound  in  the 
world,  and  Nellie  joined  in  this  time,  despite  the 
fact  that  she  felt  the  joke  was  at  her  hostess's  ex- 
pense. 

When,  later,  Crissey  invited  Nellie  into  his  sanc- 
tum sanctorum  to  look  at  his  books,  she  felt  a 
definite  sense  of  pity  for  the  handsome,  white- 


84        THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

haired,  young-looking-  man,  so  brilliant,  so  studious, 
who  was  tied  up  to  so  stupid  a  wife  and  a  family 
of  squalling  children.  Harry  Had  gone  to  show 
Jim  how  to  set  a  basket  rat-trap  in  the  basement, 
and  Dorothy  had  waked  up,  crying,  "Mama,"  with 
the  full  force  of  an  admirable  pair  of  lungs. 

"I  regard  this  as  a  great  privilege,"  said  Nellie, 
with  her  explosive  little  laugh.  "May  I  sit  here 
in  the  author's  chair  ?  Perhaps  some  great  thoughts 
will  come  into  my  Head." 

Mr.  Crissey's  library  was  characteristic.  Besides 
the  books  that  he  was  collecting  with  reference  to 
his  work  on  "The  Law  of  Corporations,"  there  were 
standard  authors  in  sets — Shakespeare,  of  course, 
Gibbon,  Macaulay,  Hume,  Scott,  Thackeray,  Dick- 
ens, Locke,  Milton,  and  some  of  the  old  dramatists ; 
translations  of  the  principal  classics,  as  well  as  of 
some  of  the  foreign  masters  of  contemporary 
thought — Tolstoi,  Zola,  Maeterlinck,  and  a  few  of 
the  sweeter  poets,  such  as  Keats,  Wordsworth  and 
Shelley.  On  his  table  lay  one  or  two  recent  novels 
of  deeper  purpose,  "The  Resurrection,"  by  Tolstoi, 
and  "Labor,"  by  Zola. 

"Oh,  are  you  reading  'The  Resurrection/  Mr. 
Crissey  ?"  cried  Nellie.  "Everybody  is  reading  that 
book  now,  and  everybody  is  talking  about  it.  Didn't 
you  find  it  perfectly  grand  ?" 


A   MATCHMAKING  85 

Crissey  picked  the  volume  up  and  held  it  at  some 
little  distance  from  his  face,  looking  at  it  while  he 
expressed  his  opinion. 

"It  is  certainly  a  powerful  work,"  he  said  oracu- 
larly, "but  that  is  no  reason  for  its  popularity. 
Though  it  was  written  for  men  and  intended  as 
a  sermon,  it  is  read  principally  by  women;  and 
women,  I  fancy" — here  He  laughed,  "who  have  some 
grudge  against  the  sterner  sex — either  unwilling 
old  maids  or  embittered  advocates  of  equal  rights, 
hangers-on  of  Adamless  clubs — all  that  nondescript 
mob  of  amphibious  creatures,  trie  sort  who  wear 
tight  skirts  and  derby  hats,  you  know." 

"Why,  Mr.  Crissey!  And  why  do  such  people 
read  'The  Resurrection'?" 

"Well,  perhaps  I  am  putting  it  a  little  too  strong, 
but  I  have  no  use  for  an  unwomanly  woman.  Why 
you  see,  in  this  novel  of  Tolstoi's,  tHe  reckless  young 
man  is  made  to  feel  the  enormity  of  his  offense 
toward  one  of  the  weaker  sex,  and  his  conscience 
compels  him  to  attempt  some  restitution.  Now,  I 
have  a  theory  that  the  more  a  woman  apes  masculin- 
ity the  greater  is  her  secret  yearning  for  the  weak- 
nesses and  graces  of  her  real  sex.  Such  a  woman 
feels  a  sort  of  sympathy  with  a  victim  of  the  Tol- 
stoi type,  because  sKe  realizes  that  sKe  herself  is  a 
victim  of  man's  weakness.  In  the  right  sort  of 


86        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

a  civilization — a  civilization  where  men  were  really 
men,  women  would  not  be  driven  to  the  necessity 
of  being  masculine.  It's  a  sort  of  general  protest 
against  man's  inhumanity  to  woman,  you  see." 

"How  beautifully  you  do  explain  it !"  gushed  Nel- 
lie. "What  a  great  gift  it  is  to  be  so  eloquent !" 

Crissey  laid  the  book  down  gently,  and  a  scarcely 
perceptible  expression  of  weariness  came  over  his 
face. 

"Great  indeed,"  he  laughed;  "but  here  come  the 
folks." 

Harry  found  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  Crissey 
alone  before  leaving  the  house. 

"Isn't  she  a  peach,  old  man?"  he  said,  chuckling 
hysterically.  "Isn't  she  a  regular  queen,  eh  ?  And 
brains!  God  didn't  forget  anything  when  hie  was 
making  her.  He  put  it  all  in ;  he  didn't  leave  out 
a  thing.  How  do  you  think  I  stand?  Now,  just 
from  your  own  observation,  you  know,  do  you  think 
I'm  playing  my  hand  all  right  ?" 

There  is  but  one  thing  to  do  when  a  friend  has 
fixed  his  heart  upon  a  member  of  the  opposite  sex, 
if  you  wish  to  remain  in  his  good  graces,  and  Cris- 
sey did  that  thing. 

"I  think  you  hold  four  aces,  old  man,"  he  said 
kindly. 

Harry  seized  his  hand  and  sKook  it  nervously. 


A   MATCHMAKING  87 

"Honest?"  he  said.  "You're  not  stringing  me 
just  because  you're  a  friend  of  mine?" 

"No;  I  really  think  you're  solid  there."  Harry 
gave  the  hand  another  spasmodic  shake. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crissey  came  to  the  door  to  bid 
their  friends  good  by.  The  gentle  hostess  held 
Dorothy  in  her  arms,  and  her  husband  towered 
beside  her.  Aggie  dashed  suddenly  out  on  the 
porch,  and,  pulling  open  Harry's  pocket,  peeped 
within  to  see  if  Lucinda  was  still  there. 

The  sun  was  shining  with  dazzling  brilliancy  on 
the  snowy  world,  though  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon, 
as  Harry  and  Nellie  walked  briskly  down  the  boule- 
vard in  the  direction  of  their  car.  The  English 
sparrows  were  burrowing  in  the  fluffy  snow,  shak- 
ing it  from  their  wings  with  all  the  seeming  enjoy- 
ment of  mischievous  children. 

"What  an  interesting  man  Mr.  Crissey  is!"  re- 
marked Nellie.  "And  so  much  more  intelligent 
than  his  wife !" 

During  the  long  street-car  journey,  she  asked 
Harry  if  he  had  read  Tolstoi's  "Resurrection,"  and 
he  was  obliged  to  confess,  somewhat  shamefacedly, 
that  he  had  not. 

"The  book  was  really  intended  by  tHe  author  as  a: 
sermon,"  explained  Nellie,  "a  sermon  to  men,  but 
the  people  wKo  are  really  reading  it  are  the  women : 


88        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

women's  rights,  club  women,  and  so  on.  There  is 
a  young  man  in  it  who  is  made  to  feel  sorry  for 
the  wrong  which  he  had  done  to  a  young  woman, 
and  he  tries  to  make  restitution.  All  women  feel 
sympathy  for  each  other,  no  matter  how  much  they 
may  ape  masculine  manners.  Man's  inhumanity  to 
woman  is  a  bond  of  sympathy  between  them." 

"I  must  try  to  read  up  more,"  said  Harry,  hum- 
bly; "I  must  get  you  to  make  me  out  a  list  of 
books." 

"I'm  not  in  that  woman's  class  at  all,"  he  mused, 
as  he  strolled  down  town  from  the  Erie  Street  lodg- 
ing house.  "I'll  have  to  bone  up — but  even  if  I 
were  to  swallow  a  whole  library,  I  wouldn't  have 
Her  brains.  What  a  witty  way  she  has  of  saying 
things!  Let  me  see,  what  was  that?  Oh,  yes; 
'man's  Humanity  to  woman  is  the  bond  of  sympathy.' 
That's  good  enough  to  put  in  the  paper." 

And  so  He  walked  aimlessly  along,  dreaming  of 
the  girl  with  the  red-gold  hair,  nor  did  he  awake 
from  his  reverie  until  reminded  by  his  stomach  that 
a  man  must  eat,  even  though  he  be  in  love.  He 
looked  about  him;  the  pall  of  evening  was  settling 
over  the  grim  city,  and  the  electric  signs  had  begun 
to  wink  changing  colors. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  DIE  IS  CAST 

After  Nellie  Had  once  made  up  Her  min'd  that 
Harry  "meant  business,"  as  Carrie  Vinne  expressed 
it,  it  did  not  take  her  long  to  decide  in  his  favor. 
Thirty  dollars  a  week,  earned  by  another,  witK  no 
necessity  for  trying  on  beautiful  cloaks  all  day  that 
other  women  might  wear  them,  seemed  to  her  a  de- 
cided improvement  upon  her  present  condition.  It 
was  not  queenly,  but  it  was  a  definite  opportunity  to 
become  a  respectable  married  woman,  to  keep  a 
"girl,"  to  belong  to  a  church  and  club,  to  cultivate 
her  mind.  As  she  explained  this  to  Carrie,  one 
night  as  they  were  preparing  for  bed,  sKe  brought 
her  eyes  together  until  the  hazel  pupils  with  the  red- 
dish gleam  in  them  peeped  through  mere  slits,  and 
the  long  curling  lashes,  yellow-brown  in  color,  swept 
downward  toward  her  cheek. 

"Yes,  V  Harry's  all  right,  too,"  said  Carrie,  who, 
despite  her  collar-bones  that  resembled  flat-irons, 
had  a  catholic  friendliness  for  the  other  sex.  "When 
89 


90        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

he  gets  on  that  raglan  coat  of  his  and  a  silk  hat, 
he's  a  regular  dude.  Gee,  didn't  he  look  swell  the 
other  night  when  he  took  us  to  the  theater?  And 
he's  good-hearted,  too,  Harry  is.  If  he  likes  any 
one,  nothing's  too  good  for  'em." 

"He's  not  intellectual,"  replied  Nellie,  in  the  tone 
of  one  making  an  inventory,  "but  you  can't  expect 
too  much,  I  suppose." 

Harry  proposed  one  Sunday  night  in  May,  in 
Lincoln  Park.  It  had  been  one  of  those  warm  days 
which  occur  in  this  inconsequential  climate  before 
the  spring  is  fairly  launched.  Nellie  went  with  him 
for  a  walk.  He  remembered  it  afterward  as  the 
happiest,  most  delirious  day  of  his  life.  A  heavy 
fog  had  fallen  during  the  forenoon,  and  the  eager 
boy  had  gone  forth  early  to  study  the  face  of  the 
weather,  fearful  lest  rain  should  spoil  his  pleasure. 
He  had  noticed  that  the  buds  were  swelling  on 
the  trees,  and  that  the  moisture,  trickling  down  a 
million  branches  and  twigs,  was  dropping  like  tears 
from  the  tiny  extremities.  Several  times,  as  he 
heard  splashes  on  the  paved  walk  and  saw  the 
drops  spread  out  in  irregular  stains,  he  had  looked 
up  at  the  sky  with  startled  eagerness  to  make  sure 
that  it  was  not  indeed  raining.  A  fog  horn,  some- 
where out  in  the  Lake,  mooed  at  times,  like  a  cow 
whose  calf  has  been  taken  from  her.  At  noon  the 


THE   DIE   IS    CAST  91 

sun  was  shining  brightly,  and  by  three  o'clock 
many  of  the  buds  had  actually  opened  their  fairy 
fists  and  were  spreading  their  delicate  palms  in 
benediction  above  a  resurgent  world.  Harry  fan- 
cied that  he  could  actually  see  the  buds  open,  and 
his  heart  felt  as  though"  it  were  opening  with  them. 

"If  she  gives  me  the  least  encouragement,  I'll 
speak,"  he  muttered,  clenching  his  fist  in  determi- 
nation, not  surmising  that  the  lady  had  resolved 
to  seize  this  occasion  to  make  him  declare  his  love 
by  one  or  another  of  those  wiles  which  are  known 
to  the  most  timid  of  the  finer  sex. 

They  passed  the  late  afternoon  strolling  about 
the  park,  looking  at  the  animals,  the  flowers  in  the 
green-house,  and  the  beds  of  crocuses  and  other 
flowers  which  seem  to  spring  up  on  lawns  and 
under  front  windows,  beneath  the  very  heels  of  win- 
ter. They  took  a  ride  in  a  pony  carriage,  not  re- 
turning the  little  animals  until  the  electric  lights  be- 
gan to  gleam  among  the  trees. 

Nellie  demurely  assented  to  all  of  Harry's  devices 
to  prolong  the  outing,  nor  did  she  demur  when  he 
conducted  her  to  a  seat  in  a  retired  nook. 

"Are  you  chilly?"  he  asked  her  frequently.  "I 
should  never  forgive  myself  if  I  let  you  catch  cold." 
And  Nellie  replied : 

"No;  not  at  all.    It's  just  like  summer,  isn't  it?" 


92        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"Oh,  we'll  have  snow  yet,"  repeated  Harry  every 
time,  studying  desperately  for  some  way  to  lead  up 
to  the  momentous  question  in  a  natural  and  skilful 
manner.  But  the  more  he  studied,  the  more  mud- 
dled he  became,  and  the  farther  away  from  the  point 
he  seemed  to  get.  Suppose  after  all  this  stately 
and  beautiful  creature,  who  must  have  been  sought 
after  by  many  men  of  greater  consequence  than  he, 
were  going  out  with  him  simply  because  she  re- 
garded him  as  a  safe  though  agreeable  person? 
Pshaw!  it  was  impossible  that  she  could  love  him. 
If  he  asked  Her,  and  she  refused,  as  she  was  almost 
sure  to  do,  then  what  would  become  of  his  beautiful 
dream  that  had  grown  so  necessary  to  his  life  ? 

"What  makes  you  tremble  so?"  asked  Nellie. 
"Are  you  cold?  I  am  not.  See  how  warm  my 
hand  is." 

He  held  the  warm,  strong,  soft  hand  in  his  and 
leaned  toward  her  in  the  wan  light.  His  face  looked 
thin  and  drawn. 

"Nellie,"  he  murmured  hoarsely. 

"Yes,"  she  whispered. 

"I — I — are  you  sure  you  are  not  getting  cold  ?" 

She  could  scarcely  repress  an  exclamation  of  dis- 
gust. "How  can  I  ever  live  with  such  a  fool  ?"  she 
thought. 


THE   DIE   IS    CAST  93 

After  a  few  moments,  she  began  to  fumble  with 
the  knot  of  her  veil  behind  her  head. 

"Please  untie  it  for  me,"  she  requested.  As 
Harry  was  working  at  the  knot,  the  red-gold  hair 
tickled  him  on  the  cheek.  He  lost  his  head,  and  in 
a  reckless  swoon  of  passion  put  his  arm  about  her 
neck. 

"I  love  you,  I  love  you,"  he  sobbed.  "Will  you 
marry  me,  Nellie?  Will  you  be  my  wife?" 

Nellie  suffered  him  to  kiss  her  and  to  hold  her 
tight,  with  his  hot  face  pressed  to  hers.  Then  she 
sat  up  straight,  and  arranged  her  hat  and  her  dis- 
ordered locks. 

"There's  some  one  coming,"  she  whispered. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  LAND  OF  DESIRE 

The  first  Sunday  in  June;  Harry  and  Nellie  went 
over  to  St.  Joe  to  get  married.  They  were  accom- 
panied by  Miss  Vinne.  A  little  before  nine  the 
bridal  party  walked  through  the  large,  shed-like 
building  where  the  tickets  are  bought,  and  across 
the  bridge  to  the  lower  deck  of  the  steamer  which 
was  to  sail  with  them  to  the  Islands  of  the  Blest. 

Oh,  Bridal  Boat,  what  burdens  of  hopes  and  fears 
do  you  bear  away  every  Sunday  morning  during  all 
the  long  summer!  Beyond  that  dim,  misty  veil 
yonder  where  the  blue  sky  seems  to  melt  into  the 
blue  lake  and  become  one  with  it,  who  knows  what 
new  life,  what  destinies  await  ?  As  the  lovers  come 
over  two  by  two,  their  hearts  are  thrilled  with  the 
old  primeval  joy,  with  all  the  romance  and  yearn- 
ing of  the  twilight  ages.  They  feel  the  same  de- 
lirium that  Sappho  and  Phaon  felt,  Pyramus  and 
Thisbe,  Leander  and  Hero,  Paris  and  Helen,  Abe- 
lard  and  Heloise.  Their  names  may  be  Polish, 
94 


THE   LAND    OF   DESIRE  95 

Swedish  or  German,  as  they  appear  in  the  news- 
paper lists  next  morning,  and  they  may  be  going 
to  settle  down  in  little  wooden  cottages  or  in  stove- 
heated  flats ;  but,  oh !  they  love,  and  they  are  steam- 
ing away  to  the  land  of  Heart's  Desire.  A  sailing 
ship  should  carry  them  off  over  purple  waters  by 
the  light  of  the  silver  moon,  to  the  sweet  strum- 
ming of  ancient  harps  and  the  voice  of  distant  sing- 
ing. Instead,  they  go  on  a  lake  steamer,  down  a 
dirty  river,  while  boys  cry  the  Sunday  papers,  and 
a  negro  orchestra  plays  rag-time — but  oh!  they 
love,  and  not  all  the  horrors  of  modern  civilization 
can  take  the  romance  out  of  young  love.  God  bless 
them  all,  and  make  them  happy ;  and,  if  an  awaken- 
ing must  come  in  some  instances,  may  it  be  put  off 
as  long  as  possible !  May  those  who  are  fools  stay 
in  their  paradise  for  many  years ;  for  what  paradise 
is  better  than  a  fool's  while  it  lasts  ? 

It  would  not  have  been  difficult  for  the  most  in- 
experienced eye  to  pick  out  Harry  and  Nellie  as  a 
bridal  couple,  despite  the  air  of  bravado  and  un- 
concern which  they  assumed.  In  any  case,  the 
self-conscious  manner  of  Miss  Vinne,  whose  ro- 
mantic soul  made  her  almost  imagine  that  she  was 
going  to  her  own  wedding,  would  have  betrayed 
them.  Nellie  looked  ravishingly  sweet,  attired  in 
a  dark  blue  foulard  silk  and  a  blue  straw  hat 


96        THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

trimmed  with  corn  flowers  and  taffeta  ribbon.  Her 
gown,  to  be  sure,  had  been  a  "leader"  at  Handel's 
for  the  past  two  weeks,  and  one  could' have  seen 
half  a  hundred  like  it  any  Sunday  morning  on  tak- 
ing a  walk. 

Nellie  never  did  any  sewing.  She  had  never 
learned,  and  besides,  she  had  not  the  time.  She 
accepted  philosophically  the  fact  that  all  her  gar- 
ments were  sewed  together  with  a  chain  stitch  and 
were  likely  to  give  way  somewhere  at  any  moment. 
But  they  generally  looked  jaunty  while  they  lasted, 
and  this  particular  gown  was  no  exception  to  the 
rule. 

Harry  was  attired  in  a  gray  spring  suit  and 
straw  hat  and  carried  a  light  overcoat  on  his  arm. 
Though  unutterably  tempted  to  help  Nellie  up  the 
bridge  and  the  stairs  to  the  upper  deck,  he  walked 
boorishly  on  ahead,  according  to  directions,  while 
his  sweetheart  followed  as  best  she  could  with 
Carrie. 

To  Harry  and  Miss  Vinne,  it  must  be  explained, 
was  due  the  ideal  plan  of  going  to  St.  Joe  for  the 
ceremony.  Harry  had  no  relative  at  all  at  whose 
house  he  could  have  been  married,  and  Nellie's 
only  living  kin  of  any  nearness  was  her  father, 
who  lived  in  the  little  village  from  whence  she 
came.  For  reasons  of  her  own,  she  kept  him  in 


THE   LAND   OF   DESIRE  97 

the  background.  She  had  contented  herself  with 
writing  to  him  concerning  the  coming  change  in  her 
life;  and  Harry  had  received  a  queer,  fanatical  let- 
ter, asking  him  if  he  believed  in  baptism  by  immer- 
sion, and  advising  him  not  to  play  cards,  even  with 
his  wife. 

"Some  men  think  they  can  play  just  a  little  whist 
in  their  own  house,"  it  said,  "and  that  nobody  will 
see  them.  But  God  sees  them,  and  they  become 
common,  ordinary  card-players."  A  large  part  of 
the  letter  was  devoted  to  a  rambling  discourse  on 
the  subject  of  matrimony  in  general,  which  the 
writer  seemed  to  regard  as  a  permissible  but  not 
advisable  step,  clinching  his  argument  with  Christ's 
statement  that  in  Heaven  they  neither  marry  nor 
are  given  in  marriage,  and  with  St.  Paul's  to  the 
effect  that  "it  is  better  to  marry  than  to  burn." 
Harry  was  too  happy  to  think  much  of  the  letter, 
and  he  dismissed  it  with  the  reflection,  "he  must 
be  a  queer  old  guy;  it's  a  good  thing  he  don't  live 
in  this  town." 

They  took  seats  on  the  upper  deck  and  amused 
themselves  in  attempting  to  pick  out  the  bridal 
couples,  only  those  who  came  aboard  with  children 
escaping  suspicion.  They  were  in  a  narrow  canal 
lined  with  huge  red  warehouses,  labeled  with  great 
signs.  A  bridge,  crowded  with  people,  swung  par- 


98        THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

allel  with  the  current,  and  looked  as  though  a  por- 
tion of  the  highway  had  been  blown  about  and  sus- 
pended in  mid-air. 

Pedestrians,  bicyclists  and  carriages  rapidly  col- 
lected on  both  sides  of  the  river,  all  intensely  in- 
terested in  the  marriage  boat.  A  privileged  boy 
dashed  through  the  ticket  office  and  shouted  from 
the  walk  below : 

"Get  your  morning  papers,  and  your  chewing 
gum!" 

Two  wits  leaned  from  the  prow  of  a  ship  anchored 
a  few  yards  above  and  engaged  in  a  contest  of 
facetiousness. 

"I'll  leave  my  Happy  home  for  you-oo-oo!"  sang 
one. 

"Cheer  up;  the  worst  is  yet  to  cornel"  bawled 
the  other. 

"Take  my  address;  'divorces  on  the  instalment 
plan,"  responded  the  first,  throwing  what  appeared 
to  be  a  pack  of  business  cards  into  the  air. 

Every  sally  provoked  a  burst  of  derisive  groans 
or  shrieks  of  laughter  from  the  bridal  steamer. 
Harry  and  Carrie  were  highly  amused,  but  Nellie 
murmured :  "How  vulgar !  Will  we  never  start  ?" 

At  last  they  were  off,  headed  for  the  Lake,  winding 
along  tfie  dirty,  useful,  busy  river.  The  long  walls 
o'f  red  buildings  slid  by  them,  tall  brown  elevators, 


THE   LAND   OF  DESIRE  99 

whole  cities  of  freight  cars  in  parallel  lines,  huge 
piles  of  coal.  Every  moment  an  impudent,  lawless 
little  tug  darted  by  in  asthmatic  haste,  coughing  out 
clouds  of  black  smoke.  They  entered  the  mouth  of 
the  river,  where  were  a  few  trim  yachts  lying  within 
the  breakwater.  Harry  felt  that  they  were  now 
really  embarking  upon  their  new  life,  and  he  pressed 
Nellie's  hand  furtively.  Soon  they  were  looking 
back  on  a  line  of  square,  dark  buildings,  which 
they  were  rapidly  leaving.  Those  which  faced  the 
Lake  front  seemed  to  emerge  from  a  vast  pall  of 
rolling,  tumbling  smoke,  frowning  there  grim  and 
forbidding — against  the  battlements  and  outer  walls 
of  some  plutonian  capital.  For  some  time  they 
sat  silent,  engrossed  in  the  novelty  of  the  situation, 
basking  in  the  beauty  of  the  Lake  and  the  clear  sun- 
shine. 

"I  don't  feel  as  if  I  ever  was  going  back  to  Chi- 
cago again,"  exclaimed  Carrie  at  last.  "Who  would 
think  that  you  could  get  out  of  it  and  away  from 
it  in  half  an  hour?" 

"You  must  get  married,  Carrie,"  cried  Harry, 
"and  then  it  won't  make  any  difference  wKere  you 
live.  Any  old  place  will  be  all  right  so  long  as  it's 
home." 

"That's  just  it,"  replied  the  girl.  "You  two  are 
going  back  to  your  cosy  little  flat,  and  I  will  show 


TOO      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

up  to-morrow  in  the  store ;  and  then  all  this  will  be  a 
dream." 

"Come  around  to  our  house,  and  Nellie  and  I 
will  cheer  you  up  any  time  you're  blue.  Won't  we, 
Nellie?" 

"Carrie  knows  sKe  will  always  be  welcome  at  my 
home,"  replied  Nellie. 

"I  guess  you'll  think  three's  a  crowd  and  two's 
company,  for  a  while." 

"No  such  thing,"  replied  Nellie  severely.  "How 
vulgar  that  would  be!  Dear  me,  Carrie,  you're 
quite  incorrigible" — and  she  laughed  in  her  nervous, 
explosive  way,  a  habit  that  was  more  a  manner  of 
talking  than  a  laugh.  They  were  sitting  on  the 
shady  side  of  the  boat,  back  in  a  sort  of  corner  be- 
tween the  rail  and  the  outside  wall  of  the  main 
parlors.  There  was  a  dense  throng  and  a  universal 
fluttering  of  white  newspapers.  Every  moment  a 
man  appeared  holding  camp  stools  and  looking  for 
places.  Then  the  people  already  seated  would  in- 
stinctively lean  toward  open  spaces  in  their  line  of 
formation,  or  throw  out  proprietary  legs.  Mothers 
passed  through  the  crowd,  sturdy,  self-reliant 
women,  dragging  their  offspring.  Young  girls  in 
groups  of  three  and  four  wound  their  way  in  and 
out  in  long  strings,  their  hands  clasped  and  their 
arms  outstretched. 


THE   LAND   OF   DESIRE  101 

The  boat  had  no  sooner  passed  the  crib  than 
lunch  baskets  were  opened ;  and  popcorn  balls,  boxes 
of  cracker -jack,  slices  of  bread  and  butter,  apples, 
bananas,  began  to  appear  in  the  hands  of  children, 
and  to  be  scattered  about  the  deck. 

"Get  onto  his  job-lots,"  whispered  Carrie,  nudg- 
ing Harry's  elbow.  "Gee,  ain't  he  got  it  bad  ?  St ! 
st !  Nell ;  look  at  tKat  couple  just  over  Harry's  left 
shoulder." 

An  elderly  man,  dressed  in  youthful  style,  was 
trying  to  scratch  a  spot  from  his  fair  partner's  shirt 
waist  with'  a  long,  transparent  finger  nail.  Desist- 
ing from  this  occupation  as  soon  as  he  perceived 
that  the  spot  was  indelible,  he  pulled,  not  hard 
enough  to  hurt,  at  a  lone  hair  on  the  side  of  her 
chin.  She  was  a  slender  woman,  with  young  eyes 
and  old  wrinkles,  with  a  fresh  complexion  and 
gray  streaks  in  her  hair.  When  she  laughed  her 
teeth  reminded  one  of  Phidias,  who  first  combined 
gold  and  ivory  with  signal  success.  Carrie  sud- 
denly grew  grave. 

"Perhaps  they  have  been  waiting  all  their  life-time 
to  get  married,  Nell,"  she  whispered  solemnly. 

"How  romantic!"  sighed  Nellie. 

There  was  a  perceptible  rush  for  the  door  of  the 
cabin.  Harry's  eye,  keen  for  amusement,  noted 


102      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

that  some  of  the  young  girls  were  unconsciously 
stepping  the  cakewalk  as  they  moved  across  the 
deck.  Young  and  thoughtless  persons  recklessly 
left  their  chairs  and  joined  the  crowd  pushing 
through'  the  door.  Others  piled  coats  and  baskets 
on  them,  or  besought  those  who  had  no  idea  of 
leaving  to  Hold  their  seats  till  they  got  back. 

"I  believe  the  vaudeville's  on  down  below,"  cried 
Harry,  springing  up.  "Come  on,  girls." 

Carrie  jumped  erect  and  clapped  her  hands.  Nel- 
lie rose  with  dignity. 

"I  don't  care  much  for  vaudevilles,"  she  mur- 
mured. Then  she  sat  down  again.  "You  and  Car- 
rie  go.  I — I  believe  I'm  seasick." 

Harry  leaned  over  her,  whispering:  "My  poor 
darling!  Can  I  do  anything  for  you?  Perhaps 
there's  a  doctor  on  board.  Shall  I  get  you  some 
whisky,  some  champagne,  something,  anything?" 

"Don't  be  silly,"  laugh'ed  Nellie,  a  laugh  exactly 
like  all  her  others,  yet  plainly  indicating  vexation 
this  time.  "Somebody'll  hear  you.  I'll  be  all  right. 
I'll  sit  still  Here.  Go  on,  if  you  want  to." 

There  was  a  tone  of  command  in  her  voice,  and 
Carrie  was  already  firmly  wedged  in  the  throng 
that  was  crowding  toward  the  cabin  door. 

"You're  sure  I  can't  do  anything  for  you,  'dear  ?" 


THE   LAND    OF   DESIRE  103 

"Yes." 

"You  aren't  very  sick,  darling?" 

"No,  no." 

He  went  after  Carrie,  looking  anxiously  back 
every  moment  at  his  intended  bride.  Seizing  the 
little  "saleslady"  by  the  waist,  he  pushed  her 
through  the  crowd,  using  her  thin  body  as  a  wedge. 
It  was  great  sport,  and  they  both"  laughed  gaily;. 
The  stairway,  at  which  they  soon  arrived,  was 
packed.  It  was  an  inclined  plane  of  human  heads. 

"I'll  stump  you  to  lie  down  on  top  of  the  heads 
and  slide  to  the  bottom,"  whispered  Harry. 

"Oh,  aren't  you  comical !"  screamed  Carrie. 

They  forced  their  way  to  a  step  about  Half-way 
down,  and  listened.  They  could  hear  tantalizing 
laughter  in  the  room  below,  but  nothing  else. 

"You're  little,"  suggested  Harry ;  "scrooch  down 
and  tell  me  what  you  see." 

Carrie  did  as  commanded,  and  reported,  "Only 
a  big  pair  of  feet.  I  guess  a  feller's  singing  a  comic 
song.  Gee !  Wouldn't  I  like  to  hear  him !" 

"There's  nothing  in  this,"  said  Harry  after  a  lit- 
tle, thinking  of  Nellie.  "Let's  go  back." 

'As  they  passed  the  piano  in  the  upper  cabin,  they 
found  that  a  crowd  of  men  had  collected  about  it 
and  were  listening  to  a  girl  with  bleached  Hair  who 


io4      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

was  pounding  it  noisily  and  singing  a  song.     The 
men  joined  in  the  chorus  with  great  enjoyment : 

You've  all  had  'em, 
You've  all  had  'em, 
'And  if  you  haven't  had  'em, 
'You'll  have  'em  by  and  by. 

Miss  Vinne  pinched  Harry's  arm.  "Gee!"  she 
exclaimed.  "What  would  Nellie  think  of  that  ?" 

"Are  you  feeling  better  now,  lovey?"  asked 
Harry,  sitting  down  again  by  Nellie's  side. 

She  smiled  at  him,  and  he  was  unspeakably  happy. 

"She'll  be  in  her  own  little  nest  to-night,"  he 
murmured,  "and  she  needn't  ever  leave  it  again,  if 
she  don't  want  to." 

As  the  day  wore  away,  several  of  the  couples, 
impatient  of  the  slowness  of  the  ship,  became 
oblivious  of  their  surroundings.  A  rosy  Swedish 
maiden  whose  swollen  hands  were  bulging  in  white 
cotton  gloves,  like  the  leaves  of  a  bud  in  its  out- 
grown sKell,  leaned  with  all  her  weight  against  her 
shock-headed  lover.  He  was  a  slender  prop  for  so 
much  sweetness,  but  he  braced  himself  manfully, 
looking  defiantly  happy.  The  woman  with  the 
old  wrinkles  and  the  young  eyes  sat  hand  in  hand 
with  her  middle-aged  adorer.  A  tall  and  ungainly 


THE   LAND    OF   DESIRE  105 

youth  deliberately  removed  his  sweetheart's  straw 
hat  and  gently  pulled  her  head  upon  his  shoulder. 
She  was  a  piquant  brunette  with  short  hair  and  a 
retrousse  nose;  she  struggled  faintly,  and  then 
sighed  as  she  settled  down  to  bliss  and  the  feeling 
of  being  owned.  A  couple  near  the  starboard  wheel 
lost  their  heads  and  kissed  each  other  passionately. 

Poor  Carrie  Vinne  went  to  the  rail  and  leaned 
over,  looking  into  the  dark  waters  of  the  Lake.  She 
felt  herself  alone. 

A  little  boy,  who  had  eaten  cracker-jack  and  ap- 
ples until  his  parents  refused  to  give  him  more, 
grew  fretful  and  bad.  He  cried  and  kicked  his 
mother  with  his  heavy  shoes,  whereupon  his  father 
seized  him  and  administered  two  or  three  spanks 
upon  his  tightly-fitting  trousers. 

"Leave  me  be,  leave  me  be !"  he  screamed,  and  his 
mother  took  him  on  her  lap  and  comforted  him. 

At  last  the  shore  appeared,  a  long  line  of  blue- 
gray  sand,  marked  with  triangular  patches,  like 
the  hither  side  of  a  row  of  pyramids.  There 
was  a  general  rustling  of  paper  and  a  bustle 
everywhere.  Pop-corn  bags  were  tucked  into 
baskets,  and  sheets  of  the  Sunday  journals  were 
shaken  out  and  folded  together.  Young  girls 
forged  through  the  throng  to  find  their  mothers, 
and  men  rushed  frantically  below  after  the  grips 


106      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

which  they  had  checked.  The  prospective  brides 
stole  away  to  the  toilet  rooms,  smoothing  out  their 
ruffled  feathers  as  they  went.  A  dense  throng 
gathered  at  the  prow,  gazing  at  the  land  of  prom- 
ise, still  distant,  leaving  a  few  of  the  more  experi- 
enced and  less  eager  travelers  in  possession  of  the 
vacant  seats.  Carrie  straightened  and  looked 
around  with  a  sad  smile. 

"Come  on,"  cried  Harry ;  "we're  almost  there !" 
Nellie  arose  leisurely,  and  the  trio  passed  through 
the  cabin  toward  the  bow  of  the  steamer.  The 
"tough"  young  lady  was  still  seated  at  the  piano, 
surrounded  by  men.  They  had  evidently  been 
drinking,  and  they  were  singing  with  lugubrious 
earnestness : 

"I  don't  know  why  I  love  you,  but  I  do-oo-oo !" 


CHAPTER  IX 

A    HOME    GARDEN 

Mrs.  Crissey  was  kneeling  before  a  circular  patch 
of  bare  earth  in  her  front  yard,  setting  out  bulbs. 
It  was  a  bright  morning  in  early  June,  at  the  time 
of  the  year  when  lawns  are  greenest  and  trees  leaf- 
iest. The  sun  fell  lovingly  on  the  rank  grass,  and  a 
dewy  freshness  lingered  in  the  shady  places.  A  flock 
of  white  doves  wheeled  in  the  air  and  then  fell  like 
great  snowflakes  upon  the  green  of  a  neighboring 
yard.  The  baby,  her  cKubby  legs  lying  athwart  a 
circular  border  of  pansies,  was  scraping  up  hand- 
fuls  of  black  earth  and  pouring  it  through  her  fat 
fingers.  Occasionally  she  rubbed  her  hands  over 
her  face  and  through  her  hair.  Her  sunbonnet, 
which  she  pulled  off  as  fast  and  as  often  as  her 
mother  tied  it  on,  lay  beside  her  on  the  grass.  Her 
great  blue  eyes,  profoundly  serious,  were  the  only 
portion  of  her  visible  exterior  which  she  had  not 
succeeded  in  soiling. 

One  shoe  and  stocking  lay  near  the  discarded 
107 


io8      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT  ROAD 

hat,  and  the  leg  thus  exposed  was  so  fat  that  the 
foot  seemed  set  upon  the  end  of  the  calf  without 
any  ankle  at  all.  Agnes  Matilda  was  bringing  earth 
from  a  bed  that  ran  along  the  end  of  the  house. 
She  carried  a  tiny  shovel  in  her  hand  and  pulled 
after  her  a  toy  wagon,  heaping  full.  Lucinda,  her 
eyes  restored  by  the  amiable  Chapin,  lay  on  top  of 
the  load,  with  her  face  to  the  sun.  The  day  being 
hot,  Agnes  Matilda  had  removed  all  of  the  doll's 
clothing,  and  its  limp  form,  to  any  eye  save  that  of 
imaginative  childhood,  looked  strangely  like  a  lilli- 
putian  corpse.  Agnes  wore  a  blue  pinafore,  reach- 
ing to  a  little  above  her  knees,  and  a  Mexican  hat 
with  a  conical  crown,  She  talked  incessantly,  stop- 
ping as  often  as  her  breath  ran  down  to  recover  it 
with  a  gasp  and  to  begin  a  new  sentence  or  to  re- 
peat an  insistent  question.  Her  mother  was  an- 
swering the  child  mechanically,  knowing  that  if  she 
failed  to  respond  at  regular  intervals,  Agnes  Ma- 
tilda would  call,  "Mama,  mama,"  until  an  answer 
was  forthcoming. 

When  Mrs.  Crissey  looked  up  it  could  be  seen 
that  her  face  did  not  bear  the  strong  morning  light 
very  well.  Her  figure  was  youthful ;  her  light  sum- 
mer waist,  with  reddish  stripes  in  it,  and  her  big 
straw  hat  tied  down  over  her  ears,  gave  a  jaunty, 
almost  girlish  effect.  But  there  were  wrinkles  at 


A   HOME   GARDEN  109 

the  corners  of  her  eyes,  and  the  fluff  of  hair  that 
nestled  under  the  eves  of  the  big  straw  hat  was 
powdered  with  gray. 

Agnes  Matilda  ran  one  wheel  of  the  toy  wagon 
into  a  hole  and  cried,  "Mama,  come  and  help 
me;  it's  too  hard."  This  demand  called  for  an  ac- 
tual move  on  the  mother's  part,  a  result  which  she 
avoided  by  asking  the  little  girl  to  run  around  the 
house  and  bring  her  the  watering  can. 

"All — right,"  replied  the  child,  dwelling  on  the 
first  word  for  several  seconds  and  bringing  out  the 
second  with  a  jerk.  In  a  few  moments  she  re- 
turned from  the  errand,  demanding,  "Mama, 
where  are  the  water  canj  mama,  where  are  the 
water  can  ?" 

"Go  and  ask  Lena,"  suggested  Mrs.  Crissey,  and 
Agnes  Matilda  again  disappeared.  When  she  re- 
turned she  was  dragging  the  large  tin  bucket  along 
by  the  spout,  shouting  triumphantly: 

"Here  it  are,  mama !" 

There  was  an  unnecessarily  loud  rattling  in  the 
kitchen,  where  Lena  was  washing  the  breakfast 
dishes  and  was  singing  a  German  song  with  the 
chorus  ending  in  "Numero,  numero  neun."  Mrs. 
Crissey  glanced  anxiously  from  time  to  time  in  the 
direction  of  the  music  and  its  accompaniment,  won- 
dering how  many  dishes  Lena  was  breaking. 


i  io      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

Agnes  Matilda,  after  poking  the  watering  can 
in  her  mother's  face,  with  the  oft-repeated  asser- 
tion, "Here  it  are/'  fretfully  and  at  last  angrily 
reiterated,  returned  to  the  wagon.  TKe  baby  con- 
tinued to  sift  dirt  through  its  chubby  fingers,  in- 
finitely contented. 

"Come  here  and  let  me  see  if  your  ears  are  clean," 
called  Mrs.  Crissey,  as  Jim  came  through  the  screen 
door  opening  upon  the  porch.  He  was  attired  in 
knickerbockers  and  a  short  bicycle  coat  of  blue; 
and  a  little  plaid  cap  was  set  on  the  back  of  his 
head,  exposing  all  of  his  freckled,  fearless,  impish 
face  to  the  sun.  He  carried  his  books  swinging  like 
a  pendulum  at  the  end  of  a  long  strap,  one  end  of 
which  he  had  passed  around  his  wrist. 

"I  don't  want  anybody  poking  'round  in  my  ears," 
he  grumbled  defiantly;  "I  guess  I  know  how  to 
wash  my  own  ears." 

"James,"  said  the  mother  in  a  low,  portentous 
tone,  fixing  her  gray  eyes  on  the  boy,  who  ad- 
vanced reluctantly.  There  was  a  deal  of  reserve 
force  in  Dorothy  Crissey's  nature,  and  she  never 
shouted  or  "flew  to  pieces"  when  she  intended  to 
be  obeyed.  Seizing  the  boy  by  the  lapel  of  his 
coat,  she  pulled  him  down  toward  her  and  dug  a 
slender,  searching  finger  into  one  of  the  convolu- 
tions of  his  ear. 


A   HOME   GARDEN  in 

"Ugh!"  she  exclaimed.  "Aren't  you  ashamed 
of  yourself?  The  teacher  would  certainly  have 
sent  you  home,  and  I  should  have  been  mortified  to 
death.  You  should  have  more  respect  for  your 
father,  if  not  for  me.  How  would  it  sound  if  the 
neighbors  should  say  that  the  son  of  Edward  Cris- 
sey,  alderman,  had  been  sent  home  from  school  for 
dirty  ears?" 

"I  guess  the  teacher  wouldn't  uv  found  any  dirt," 
grumbled  Jim,  going  back  to  the  house.  "There's  a 
place  there  in  my  ear  that  nobody  knows  about  but 
you." 

"There's  the  po'man;  there's  the  po'man'!"  cried 
Agnes  Matilda,  as  the  letter  carrier  entered  the 
front  gate,  and  she  dashed  down  the  walk  toward 
him,  swinging  her  doll  by  one  leg.  He  gave  the 
little  girl  four  letters  which  she  brought  to  her 
mother. 

"I  wonder  why  my  sister  doesn't  write  ?"  muttered 
Mrs.  Crissey,  looking  at  the  superscriptions. 
"Here,  Aggie  dear;  take  these  into  the  house. 
These  three  are  for  Lena,  and  this  one  is  for  your 
papa." 

Five  minutes  later  Edward  Crissey  came  out, 
flushed  with  excitement  and  looking  very  handsome 
and  manly  in  his  morning  costume — a  high  silk 
hat,  and  a  dark  sack  suit,  the  vest  of  which  was 


ii2      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

cut  very  low,  exposing  a  vast  expanse  of  im- 
maculate shirt  bosom.  But  for  his  necktie,  of 
some  soft  material  with  long,  fluttering  ends,  one 
could  almost  have  fancied  him  attired  in  a  dinner 
coat.  He  held  the  letter,  which  he  had  just  finished 
reading,  between  the  tips  of  finger  and  thumb. 

"Hello,  Dolly!"  he  cried.  "All  at  it,  eh?  The 
children'll  soon  have  consumed  the  traditional  peck 
of  dirt  at  this  rate.  The  baby  here  looks  as  though 
she  had  actually  been  rooting  like  a  pig." 

"She  h'as,  pretty  nearly,"  replied  Mrs.  Dolly. 
"At  least  she  has  rolled  over  with  her  nose  in  the 
soft  dirt  two  or  three  times.  Who  was  your  letter 
from,  dear?" 

Edward  picked  up  the  child  and  brought  its  soft 
body  close  to  his  face.  "Boo!"  he  said.  "I  can't 
find  a  clean  place  anywhere  to  kiss."  Putting  the 
little  one  abruptly  down,  he  added,  "By-by,  Dolly; 
I  have  to  rush  off." 

"Oh,  papa,  you  didn't  give  me  a  kiss,"  shrieked 
Agnes  Matilda. 

"Well,  come  here,  then.     Hurry  up." 

He  had  gone  but  a  few  steps,  when  Agnes  cried 
again,  "You  forget  to  give  me  a  hug." 

The  hug  was  bestowed ;  and  he  had  nearly  reached 
tHe  gate  when  the  child  flew  frantically  down  the 


The  letter  which  he  had 
just  finished  reading 


A   HOME   GARDEN  113 

walk,  shouting  in  a  high,  shrill  voice,  "And  a  pat! 
and  a  pat !  I  want  to  pat  you  on  your  seek !" 

The  big  man  stooped  down  while  a  tiny  hand 
patted  his  face,  and  a  rosy,  grimy  cheek  was  up- 
turned for  a  reciprocal  caress.  But  Agnes  Matilda 
was  not  yet  satisfied. 

"You  never  kissed  mama !  Oh,  you  never  kissed 
my  mama !"  she  cried  reproachfully. 

"That's  so,"  laughed  Crissey,  turning  back. 
"Come  here,  Dolly,  I  must  make  a  clean  job  of  it, 
or  the  child  will  never  let  me  get  away.  One  would 
suppose  that  I  was  going  to  Australia." 

"Oh,  don't  delay  on  my  account,"  replied  Dolly, 
holding  the  watering  can  toward  the  sun,  that  she 
might  see  where  the  leak  was.  "We're  getting  too 
old  for  sentiment,  anyway." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  cried  her  husband,  in  his  genial, 
Honest  manner,  not  noticing  the  slight  lone  of  re- 
proach in  Dolly's  voice.  "Come  here  and  give  me  a 
kiss,  quick.  I  have  an  important  appointment  at 
ten,  and  here  it  is  a  quarter  past  nine  now."  He 
held  his  watch  in  his  hand  as  he  kissed  his  wife. 
"What  do  you  think?  Here's  Philip  Murchison, 
the  great  railroad  Magnate,  wants  to  see  me  on 
business.  When  big  railroad  corporations  begin  to 
consult  a  lawyer,  he  can  safely  say  tKat  he's  rising. 


n4      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

EK,  Dolly?  You'll  wear  diamonds  yet."  And  he 
was  gone.  Dolly  looked  after  him  with  admiring 
eyes.  But  she  sighed  as  she  went  back  to  her  water- 
ing can. 

"Of  course  he'll  rise,  my  noble,  brilliant  boy.  But 
oh,  if  he  only  knew  how  much  I  prefer  kisses  to  dia- 
monds 1" 


CHAPTER  X 

A    MISCALCULATION 

Mr.  Philip  Murchison  was  a  "magnate,"  the  se- 
cret of  whose  great  success  lay  in  his  ability  to  ac- 
quire valuable  city  franchises  and  concessions.  The 
skill  to  buy  men,  with'  the  complementary  instinct 
as  to  what  men  are  venal,  is  as  auriferous  a  faculty 
as  the  ability  to  locate  gold  mines.  Mr.  Murchison 
sometimes  made  mistakes,  it  is  true,  but  Ke  regarded 
an  exhibition  of  personal  integrity  in  the  light  of 
an  unforgivable  insult,  and  He  managed  sooner  or 
later  to  take  revenge. 

When  this  shark  first  swam  into  commercial 
waters  He  had  little  money  and  an  unsavory  repu- 
tation ;  but  backers  can  always  be  found  for  those 
who  Have  "business  ability,"  and  as  for  reputation 
— well,  he  did  not  come  to  officiate  as  pastor  of 
a  church  or  to  engage  in  settlement  work.  He 
now  rode  in  a  private  car  and  owned  a  controlling 
interest  in  two  or  three  surface  railways.  It  was 
even  rumored  that  he  had  about  sucked  dry  his 


ii6      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

opportunities,  and  that  he  was  planning  an  inva- 
sion of  the  city  of  Paris,  which  he  hoped  to 
disfigure  with  elevated  tracks.  He  was  a  rather 
short,  stout  man,  with  iron-gray  hair  and  mustache. 
He  had  a  square,  high  forehead ;  shrewd,  gray  eyes 
with  thinly  penciled  brows ;  thin,  bloodless  lips,  re- 
minding one  of  the  lips  of  a  fish ;  and  a  square  chin. 
He  made  no  friends  among  those  who  could  not  be 
of  use  to  him.  Such  he  dismissed  in  the  most  in- 
cisive manner  and  with  an  air  of  contemptuous  an- 
noyance that  was  postively  insulting.  In  the  case  of 
those  whom  he  hoped  to  use,  his  voice  was  caressing, 
with  a  flattering  note.  When  talking  with"  members 
of  the  swell  society  set,  there  was  a  touch  of  servility 
in  his  manner — for  Ke  had  social  aspirations.  As 
a  purely  business  venture  he  had  acquired  a  great 
newspaper,  through  which  he  largely  advertised 
his  mysterious  charities  and  the  fact  that  he  had 
founded  a  hospital.  When  a  man's  wealth  passes 
a  certain  point,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  for  him 
to  combat  public  discontent  with'  a  reputation  for 
private  and  public  benefactions — much  advertised 
in  a  shrewd  way. 

Mr.  Murchison,  despite  the  fact  that  he  was  as 
devoid  of  human  sympathy  as  a  devilfish  and  as  im- 
placable as  a  shark,  had  one  weakness,  one  failing; 
he  was  a  libertine,  and,  like  tKe  poet  Horace,  he 


A   MISCALCULATION  117 

enjoyed  the  society  of  chambermaids  and  servant 
girls.  He  dined  frequently  at  the  Park  Club 
with  ruddy-faced  girls  of  robust  figure  and  gauche 
manner.  These  were  always  magnificently  at- 
tired, but  they  tottered  unfamiliarly  on  high- 
heeled  shoes,  and  their  hands,  when  they  removed 
their  large  gloves  for  dinner,  were  red  and  puffy, 
as  though*  recently  swollen  by  dish  water.  There 
were  rumors  of  orgies  on  a  private  car  and  in  the 
cabin  of  a  Lake  yacht,  which  did  not  tally  with  the 
keenness  of  tfie  man's  business  eye,  nor  with  the 
fishy  coldness  Of  his  thin  lips.  Neither  were  these 
reports  consonant  with"  the  editorials  and  news  items 
in  tKe  Daily  Interior,  nor  yet  with  the  private 
charities  and  the  benefactions  to  tKe  hospital.  But 
then,  every  great  man  is  maligned  more  or  less  by 
envious  tongues,  and  Mr.  Murchison  was  very, 
very  rich. 

He  was  sitting  in  his  private  office,  on  the  day 
after  dictating  a  message  to  Alderman  Crissey.  He 
occupied  a  palatial  suite  of  rooms  in  the  Minnehaha. 
You  enter  one  of  the  several  doors  under  a  brown- 
stone  arch  and  confront  a  cage  holding  a  Half  dozen 
elevators.  Alderman  Crissey  took  one  of  the  ele- 
vators, which  shot  suddenly  upward  when  the  start- 
er clacked  his  castanets.  "Mr.  Philip  Murchison," 
said  Crissey,  not  without  conscious  importance  in 


ii8      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

his  voice,  and  the  car  stopped  so  suddenly  that  tHe 
alderman  felt  a  swooping  in  the  pit  of  his  stomach. 

"To  the  right,"  said  the  boy ;  "number  three  hun- 
dred and  seven." 

Mr.  Crissey  entered  the  door  of  three  hundred  and 
seven  and  gave  his  card  to  a  blond  young  woman 
who  sat  at  a  typewriter  in  one  corner  of  the  ante- 
room. He  was  immediately  admitted  to  the 
presence  of  the  Magnate,  who  rose  from  work  at 
an  imposing  roll-top  desk  near  a  window,  and 
greeted  him  with  extended  hand.  Crissey  no- 
ticed that  the  hand  was  cold  and  damp. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Crissey,  I'm  glad  to  meet  you  at  last," 
said  the  Magnate  in  his  caressing  voice.  Crissey 
ran  his  fingers  through  his  thick,  white  hair  and 
set  his  silk  hat  carefully  on  the  floor. 

"Take  a  seat,"  continued  the  Magnate.  "You'll 
find  that  arm-chair  comfortable,  I  think.  Do  you 
smoke?"  and  Ke  proffered  a  box  of  perfectos.  Cris- 
sey accepted  and  lit  one,  finding  it  quite  a  revela- 
tion in  the  matter  of  tobacco;  but  he  refused  to 
drink,  on  tKe  plea  that  it  was  too  early  in  the  day. 

"Delightful  summer  we're  having,"  observed  the 
Magnate,  taking  in  with  one  glance  of  almost  super- 
human cunning  every  detail  of  the  manly  counte- 
nance before  him;  tHe  youthful  cheeks,  the  gray 


A   MISCALCULATION  119 

hair,  the  prominent  strong  nose,  the  frank  fear- 
less eye. 

"Yes,"  replied  Crissey;  "confirms  my  opinion — 
that  this  is  the  pleasantest  summer  city  in  the  United 
States.  Nor  have  I  any  fault  to  find  with  the  win- 
ters. Take  it  the  year  'round,  this  town's  good 
enough  for  me." 

Murchison  laughed  pleasantly. 

"You're  a  loyal  citizen,"  Ke  remarked,  "and 
that  makes  my  business  with  you  all  the  easier 
— for  me."  Mr.  Murchison  never  lost  time.  The 
face  before  him  was  not  promising  for  his  business, 
but  it  indicated  that  success,  if  gained  at  all,  was 
only  possible  by  a  sharp  and  frank  assault.  Cris- 
sey looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"You're  a  rising  man,  sir,"  affirmed  Murchison. 

"We  all  strive  for  success,  sir/'  admitted  the 
alderman. 

"Yes,  but  we  don't  all  get  it.  I  have  heard  your 
name  mentioned  frequently  of  late,  and  always 
with  the  remark,  'Alderman  Crissey  is  a  rising 
man.'  When  things  begin  to  come  a  man's  way, 
the  rest  of  his  career  is  much  easier  than  his  earlier, 
struggling  years.  At  least  I  have  found  it  so  in 
my  own  case." 

"There  is  much  truth  in  what  you  say,  sir"  re- 


120      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

plied  Crissey,  much  mystified;  "I  don't  know  that 
I  should  be  glad  to  find  that  my  struggles  were  all 
over,  however.  I  am  something  of  a  fighter,  my- 
self. There  is  no  greater  joy  than  meeting  obstacles 
and  overcoming  them." 

And  he  stretched  out  his  brawny  arms  as  though 
proud  of  their  strength. 

Could  it  be  that  Murchison  was  about  to  offer 
him  a  position  as  attorney  for  his  immense  inter- 
ests, at  a  salary  that  would  send  Jim  to  college  and 
allow  Dolly  to  ride  in  her  own  carriage?  If  so, 
he  must  think  carefully  before  accepting.  There 
was  his  political  career,  his  moral  and  intellectual 
liberty. 

"I  like  that,"  cried  the  Magnate  enthusiastically. 
"I  like  a  fighter."  He  lit  a  fresH  cigar  and  faced 
the  alderman  frankly,  crossing  his  legs.  "You 
and  I  are  much  akin  in  that  respect — and  so  are  all 
successful  men,  I  think,  in  this  democratic  country 
of  ours.  'The  strenuous  life,'  as  Roosevelt  calls  it, 
that's  the  thing  for  us.  But  there  are  some  strug- 
gles of  such  magnitude  that  they  give  a  man  op- 
portunity to  do  all  the  fighting  he  cares  for  on  his 
own  account,  and  in  wHicH  it  is  necessary  to  Have 
as  much  powerful  help  as  possible." 

"For  instance?"  inquire'd  Crissey,  blowing  out  a 


A   MISCALCULATION  121 

long  stream  of  smoke,  and  leaving  his  mouth  still 
puckered  as  though  frozen  there  by  attention. 

"I  have  even  heard  Edward  Crissey  spoken  of  as 
a  possible  candidate  for  senator."  Th'e  alderman 
started.  This  was  his  dearest  ambition,  one  of  the 
goals  on  which  he  had  set  his  mind  and  to  which 
he  had  determined  to  attain.  But  he  did  not  in- 
tend to  mention  this  ambition  to  any  one  until  he 
saw  its  attainment  more  nearly  within  his  grasp. 

"I  have  no  such  hopes — at  least,  at  present,"  he 
faltered. 

He  fancied  that  he  began  to  see;  some  wealthy 
corporations  wished  to  help  him  in  his  political 
career,  perhaps  even  as  far  as  the  United  States 
Senate  ultimately,  and  own  him.  He  was  not  deep- 
ly offended — he  felt  rather  complimented ;  but  he 
smiled  faintly  as  he  thought  of  the  mistake  that 
Murchison  had  made  in  his  man.  Own  him!  He 
knew  that  he  could  not  be  any  man's  man  if  Ke  were 
to  try.  It  was  not  in  his  nature. 

"You  wrote  that  you  wished  to  see  me  on  busi- 
ness," he  said  with  considerable  dignity. 

"Take  a  fresh  cigar,"  said  the  Magnate,  proffer- 
ing the  box  a  second  time.  "No?  Put  one  in  your 
pocket.  Well,  I'll  come  right  to  the  point.  Your 
time's  valuable  as  well  as  mine.  I  am,  as  you  know, 


122      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

interested  in  telephones.  You  know  also  that 
there  is  great  popular  discontent  with  the  serv- 
ice here.  People  refuse  to  believe  th'at  the  com- 
pany is  doing  its  best  under  the  circumstances, 
and  they  wonder — and  justly — why  such  a  high  rate 
as  ten  cents  is  charged  for  the  public  instruments. 
Now  it  is  necessary  for  some  intelligent,  public- 
spirited,  practical  men,  who  have  something  to  say 
in  the  matter,  to  understand  wherein  lies  the  real 
difficulty.  To  conduct  a  great  business  like  this, 
it  is  necessary  for  the  company  to  be  on  a  safe  and 
permanent  basis.  The  franchise  under  which  we 
operate  expires  now  in  a  very  few  years,  and,  in 
view  of  the  public  discontent,  we  lack  confidence 
in  ourselves,  and  we  fail  to  inspire  the  confidence  of 
capital. 

"What  we  need  is  a  renewal  of  our  franchise  for 
a  long  term  of  years,  say  fifty.  Then  our  stock 
would  go  booming,  and  we  should  feel  justified  in 
putting  more  money  into  the  business — could  get 
more  money  for  it.  What  would  be  the  inevitable 
result?  Better  apparatus,  newer  appliances,  more 
expensive  and  capable  employees,  cheaper  service. 

"We  could  guarantee,  with  a  good  long  extension, 
to  reduce  the  yearly  rates  immediately,  and  to  put 
the  public  rates  at  half  what  tKey  now  are.  Is 
tKere  any  reason  why  a  man  should  put  his  hand 


A   MISCALCULATION  123 

into  his  pocket  and  drop  ten  cents  into  the  slot 
every  time  he  wishes  to  tell  his  wife  he  won't  be 
home  to  dinner?  No,  sir;  we  admit  that  it  is  an 
outrage.  But  what  can  we  do  about  it  ?  The  com- 
pany is  losing  money  as  it  is.  With  an  extension  of 
franchise,  we  could  make  money  on  a  five-cent  rate 
now.  Perhaps,"  and  here  the  Magnate  grew  en- 
thusiastic, "we  could  allow  people  to  telephone  after 
four  or  five  years  for  one  penny !" 

"And  you  wish  me — " 

"I'm  coming  to  that.  You  are  just  the  man  to 
support  us  in  the  city  Council.  The  Legislature  has 
already  been — we  have  the  Legislature  with  us,  as 
you  know.  You  would  be  a  tower  of  strength  to  us 
in  the  Council.  Your  well-known  integrity,  your 
unimpeachable  character,  your  eloquence,  your  com- 
manding influence,  would  insure  us  victory.  Your 
support  would  give  the  lie  to  all  those  who  see  a 
'job'  in  every  measure  for  the  public  interest.  Your 
reward?  For  we  must  always  think  of  number 
one,  if  only  incidentally.  Your  reward  would  con- 
sist in  increased  popularity.  You  would  always  be 
spoken  of  as  the  alderman  who  gave  the  people 
cheaper  and  better  telephones.  Then,  too,"  and 
here  Crissey  felt  that  the  Magnate's  eyes  were 
searching  his  very  soul,  "you  would  be  associating 
yourself  with  a  number  of  wealthy  and  influential 


124      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

men  who  would  come  to  know  you  as  a  friend,  and 
who  would  help  you  on  your  onward  and  upward 
course." 

Crissey  sat  quietly  smoking,  looking  at  the  toe 
of  his  right  boot,  for  several  minutes.  The  Mag- 
nate watched  him. 

"I  have  no  faith  in  his  philanthropic  motives," 
thought  the  alderman.  "He's  for  Philip  Murchi- 
son  first,  last,  and  all  the  time.  I've  got  him!  I'll 
hint  at  a  bribe.  He  wouldn't  want  to  bribe  a  man 
for  philanthropic  motives." 

He  looked  up  at  the  Magnate. 

"Business  is  business,  Mr.  Murchison.  The  re- 
ward which  you  suggest  is — ah — hardly  tangible 
enough;  hardly  immediate  enough." 

The  Magnate  gave  a  sudden  start,  and  his  face 
brightened. 

"How  much  do  you  want?"  .he  asked  bluntly. 
His  voice  assumed  a  familiar  tone,  with  a  slight  sus- 
picion of  contempt,  as  though  he  were  addressing  a 
servant.  "I  am  prepared  to  give  you  a  check  for 
a  certain  sum  in  advance,  with  a  promise  of  a  still 
greater  amount  after  our  ordinance  passes  the  Coun- 
cil. But  don't  hit  us  too  Hard,  for  there  are  others 
besides  yourself." 

The  color  fled  from  Crissey's  cheeks,  and  there 


A   MISCALCULATION  125 

was  a  dangerous  light  in  his  eye.  He  put  his  silk 
hat  on  his  head  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"I  thought  you  wished  to  see  me  on  business," 
he  said,  controlling  his  voice  admirably,  save  for  a 
'high  note  at  the  end  of  the  sentence.  "Good  day, 
sir." 

He  walked  toward  the  door,  but  just  before  he 
opened  it  he  was  seized  with  uncontrollable  rage. 

"If  this  interview  had  occurred  in  my  office,  sir," 
he  said,  turning  toward  the  Magnate  and  shaking 
his  fist  at  him,  "I  should  have  kicked  you  down- 
stairs— you  damned  scoundrel!"  And  he  was 
gone. 

"You  think  you're  a  rising  man,"  shouted  Mur- 
chison  at  the  closed  door  through  which  the  burly 
form  Had  just  disappeared.  "We'll  see  how  fast 
you'll  rise !  You  sanctimonious  idiot,,  you !" 


CHAPTER  XI 

CULTURE    IN    A    FLAT 

The  Chapins  took  a  flat  of  six  rooms  on  George 
Avenue,  near  the  Lake.  There  are  few  flats  in  this 
locality  of  the  North  Side,  but  Harry,  from  the 
nature  of  his  business,  was  posted  regarding  op- 
portunities—"snaps"  he  called  them.  A  German 
woman,  a  divorcee  of  three  years'  standing,  owned 
the  building,  which,  with  another  property  in  the 
neighborhood,  represented  the  price  of  her  liberty. 
The  proprietor  lived  on  the  ground  floor  with  her 
son,  who  played  the  violin  and  did  something  or 
other  at  the  Board  of  Trade.  Harry  and  his  wife 
occupied  the  middle  flat,  and  the  Roth  family  the 
upper.  Victor  Roth  was  a  bookkeeper  in  Murchi- 
son's  office,  and  it  was  through  him  that  the  Mag- 
nate learned  who  Nellie  was.  Thus  do  the  ro- 
mances of  this  work-a-day,  scheming,  wicked,  good 
old  world  of  ours  work  themselves  out.  Happy 
the  man  who  with  simple  faith  can  see  the  hand 
of  a  wise  and  benevolent  God  controlling  the  threads 
of  all  our  various  destinies ! 
126 


CULTURE   IN   A   FLAT  127 

Roth  was  a  fat,  blue-eyed  German,  quiet  and  in- 
dustrious. He  was  an  uxorious  husband,  who 
never  made  a  mistake  in  his  accounts,  and  whose 
fat,  pink  hand  traced  most  beautiful  chirography. 
He  was  haunted  by  a  servile  fear,  for  his  family's 
sake,  lest  he  lose  his  position.  All  day,  while  at 
work,  he  saw  behind  his  ledger  the  faces  of  his  wife, 
his  beautiful  daughter,  and  his  two  babies,  as  plain- 
ly as  though  they  were  represented  in  a  photo- 
graphic group  upon  his  desk.  He  hastened  home 
as  soon  as  the  day  was  done,  kissed  his  wife,  and 
caught  his  youngest  baby  to  his  breast.  He  could 
often  be  seen  on  George  Avenue  wheeling  a  baby 
carriage  up  and  down. 

Mrs.  Roth's  father  lived  with  the  family,  an  old 
German  who  played  the  organ  in  a  church  and  fished 
in  the  Lake.  Evalina,  the  sixteen-year-old  girl,  was 
keeping  company  with  a  nice  young  man  from 
Evanston,  who  appeared  regularly  every  Sunday 
night.  Mrs.  RotK,  who  had  been  a  dressmaker  be- 
fore she  became  a  wife,  managed  to  keep  Evalina 
dressed  nicely,  even  stylishly.  The  girl  had  a  slen- 
der figure,  flaxen  hair,  the  features  of  a  Dresden 
china  doll,  and  very  blue  eyes.  She  wore  big  hats 
of  the  Gainsborough  type,  and  affected  a  long  curl 
which  dangled  over  her  right  shoulder.  SKe  was 
not  musical,  but  she  practised  the  latest  or  most 


128      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

popular  piece  all  the  week  that  she  might  play  it 
on  Sunday  night  to  her  young  man.  When  prac- 
tising she  always  made  the  same  mistake  at  the  same 
place,  and  then  commenced  again  at  the  beginning. 
Harry,  who  had  a  musical  ear,  listened  with  amuse- 
ment to  Evalina  during  the  joyous  days  of  his 
honeymoon.  On  Sunday  nights,  when  Evalina 
played  the  piece  of  the  week  to  her  beau,  she  made 
the  mistake  as  usual,  but  kept  right  on  to  the  end. 
"The  Spanish  Serenade"  from  "Arizona,"  "The 
Fox  Hunter's  March"  and  "The  Intermezzo"  from 
the  "Cavalleria  Rusticana,"  were  her  favorites  about 
the  time  when  the  Chapins  moved  into  the  neighbor- 
hood. 

Harry's  days  began  immediately  to  assume  a 
marked  sameness  as  soon  as  he  settled  down.  He 
was  awakened  every  morning  by  hearing  the  rat- 
tling of  milk  bottles  in  a  rack ;  at  which  sound  Mrs. 
Roth  jumped  upon  the  floor  above  his  head  with  a 
thump  that  sounded  as  though  some  heavy  body  had 
fallen  from  a  height,  and  ran  out  toward  the  kitchen, 
shaking  the  entire  house  at  every  step.  Somebody 
had  once  stolen  her  milk.  Then  the  neighbor  on  the 
side  toward  the  Lake,  a  wealthy  grocer  who  lived  in 
his  own  house,  called  his  Danish  hound,  which  the 
hired  girl  had  turned  out  of  doors  a  few  minutes 
before.  "Here,  Beaut !  Here,  Beaut !"  he  shouted, 


CULTURE   IN   A   FLAT  129 

the  "Here"  in  a  cracked  falsetto,  the  "Beaut"  in  a 
deep  gutteral.  A  few  moments  later  the  grocer's 
wife  called  her  little  boy,  a  very  early  riser,  into 
the  house  to  have  his  face  washed.  "Joey — Joey — " 
she  cried,  dwelling  long  on  the  last  syllable — a  cry 
like  that  of  a  bird.  Soon  after,  the  Scully  boys, 
four  in  number,  burst  noisily  into  the  street,  and 
turned  their  three  dogs  loose  from  the  barn.  The 
consequent  barking  and  shouting  indicated  that  it 
was  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  that  the  day 
had  actually  begun. 

Then  Harry  rose  and  began  to  dress,  and  Nel- 
lie, stepping  into  a  pair  of  slippers  and  donning  a 
warm  red  kimono  which  had  replaced  the  faded 
blue  garment  of  the  lodging-house,  went  out  and 
made  the  coffee.  She  looked  very  attractive  in  her 
partial  dishabille,  with  her  great  mass  of  red-gold 
hair  tumbled  about  her  face ;  and  Harry  drank  the 
pale,  tasteless  coffee  which  she  concocted  with  per- 
fect contentment.  They  had  been  married  in  June, 
and  this  was  the  first  of  September.  A  woman  does 
not  allow  herself  to  get  off  her  guard  as  to  her  per- 
sonal appearance  in  a  man's  eyes  at  three  months' 
living  with  him ;  neither  does  he  begin  to  detect  the 
flat  taste  in  Her  coffee.  With  love  for  cream,  any 
coffee  is  good. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  Harry    kissed   his 


130      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

wife  and  went  up  the  shady  street  to  the  Evanston 
Avenue  car,  with  fifty  cents  in  his  pocket,  ten  for 
car  fare  and  the  rest  for  a  bakery  lunch.  He 
whistled  the  latest  "coon"  song  as  he  went.  At 
night  he  hurried  home,  to  partake  of  fried  steak  or 
chops,  a  cup  of  tea,  and  a  piece  of  bakery  pie.  If 
Nellie  had  been  detained  too  long  at  her  French 
lesson,  she  bought  something  cold  at  the  convenient 
delicatessen.  For  Nellie's  yearning  to  cultivate  her 
mind  had  brooked  no  delay.  She  had  immediately 
joined  a  French  class  that  convened  afternoons  at 
the  Newberry  Library ;  and  she  had  promised  al- 
ready to  join  the  Garden  City  Club,  an  organization 
of  women  that  met  twice  a  month  at  tKe  Masonic 
Temple,  and  discussed  matters  of  art,  literature, 
psychology,  travel,  politics,  religion,  arcKseology  and 
other  subjects.  Nellie  knew  one  of  the  members  of 
this  club,  and  through  her  had  obtained  an  invita- 
tion to  join.  She  had  also  taken  up  Browning, 
Ibsen  and  Maeterlinck,  and  was  industriously  stor- 
ing her  mind  with"  many  detached  sayings  which 
seemed  to  Her  bright  or  profound,  that  she  might 
use  them  in  conversation  as  soon  as  she  got  fairly 
launched  in  the  world  of  wit  and  progress. 

Harry  was  extremely  proud  of  the  FrencK  les- 
sons, and  the  fried  steak  in  his  own  house  tasted 


CULTURE   IN   A   FLAT  131 

delicious  to  him — a  fact  which  proves  that  love  is 
palateless  as  well  as  blind,  for  in  his  pre  nuptial 
days  Harry  had  been  fond  of  camembert  cheese, 
English  chops  and  Ma'am  Galli's  spaghetti. 

The  Chapins'  flat,  for  which  they  paid  thirty-five 
dollars  a  month,  faced  George  Avenue.  The  rooms 
were  small,  and  the  bedroom  was  dark.  The  parlor 
was  papered  in  deep  green,  with  a  peacock  blue 
border,  and  the  dining  room  in  dark  red — a  sort  of 
tomato-sauce  effect.  The  furniture  had  that  air 
of  newness  about  it  whicH  always  attaches  to  the 
chattels  of  newly  married  couples.  All  the  sets 
were  complete  as  yet — six  high-backed  chairs  in  the 
dining  room ;  a  willow  set  in  the  parlor ;  four  wood- 
en chairs  and  a  table  in  the  kitchen ;  an  imitation 
oak  bureau,  a  white  iron  bed  with  brass  knobs,  and 
two  cane-seated  chairs  in  the  bedroom.  There  was 
a  center  table  in  the  parlor,  on  which  Nellie  con- 
spicuously disposed  the  latest  novels— -"The  Crisis," 
"TKe  Eternal  City,"  "D'ri  and  I,"  as  well  as  her 
"French  Course,"  her  Browning,  and  her  Omar 
Khayyam.  A  few  of  Harry's  bachelor  things  were 
scattered  about,  and  looked  alien  and  ill  at  ease  amid 
their  surroundings.  The  tottering  tobacco  table, 
witK  three  legs,  most  constant  of  all  the  inanimate 
friends  of  his  youth,  sulked  in  a  dark  corner  of 


132      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

the  bedroom,  and  upon  it  lay  neglected  copies  of 
George  Ade's  "Fables"  and  "Billy  Baxter's  Let- 
ters/' 

On  the  day  wKen  Murchison  first  saw  Nellie,  she 
was  returning  about  five  o'clock  from  the  French 
lesson  at  the  Newberry  Library.  She  was  stylish- 
ly attired  in  a  brown  tailor-made  dress,  and  wore 
a  shirt-waist  Hat,  slightly  tilted  over  her  fore- 
head. It  was  bound  with  brown  tape,  was  wound 
about  with  silk  of  a  lighter  brown,  and  there  was  a 
broad  quill  thrust  jauntily  across  the  front.  Nellie 
was  with  a  little  bevy  of  older  women,  all  of  whom 
were  talking  together  about  Paris,  the  Quartier 
Latin,  "Trilby,"  and  the  French  language.  One 
could  hear  frequently  above  the  vocal  hubbub  and 
the  rattle  of  the  car  shrieks  of,  "Oui,  oui,"  "N'est- 
cc  pas?"  "Non,  non,"  and  "Je  crois  que  oui"  hope- 
lessly pronounced. 

Most  of  these  ladies  were  well  along  in  life,  and 
several  of  th'em  bore  the  marks  of  a  laborious  youth. 
Two  or  three,  with  huge  dictionaries  on  their 
laps,  were  studying  "methods,"  a  look  of  puzzled 
desperation  on  their  features.  The  women  were 
all  either  very  fat  or  very  thin,  and  they  gave  one 
the  impression  of  having  lived  one  life  and  of  hav- 
ing started  out  upon  another.  Though'  neatly 


CULTURE   IN   A   FLAT  133 

dressed  for  the  most  part,  they  seemed  somehow 
to  have  risen  above  the  feminine  love  of  dress. 
They  served  as  foils  for  Nellie's  chic  and  voluptu- 
ous beauty.  Murchison,  sitting  in  a  corner  of  the  car 
with  Roth,  moistened  his  thin  lips  with  his  tongue 
as  he  gazed  furtively  at  her.  The  Magnate  was 
conversing  pleasantly  with  his  man  concerning  the 
weather  and  other  inconsequential  subjects.  It 
was  his  policy  to  be  popular  witK  his  employees,  and 
to  attach  as  many  of  them  to  him  personally  as  pos- 
sible. He  was  really  a  business  genius — was  Mur- 
chison, and  he  knew  that  one  cheerful  employee 
was  wortH  a  dozen  who  were  sullen.  He  had,  more- 
over, a  horror  of  strikes. 

Roth  was  trembling  with  delight.  In  this  af- 
fability of  the  great  man  he  saw  security  in  his  po- 
sition and  a  possible  advance  of  salary.  He  was 
aching  to  get  home,  give  his  plump  little  wife  an 
extra  hug,  and  tell  her  all  about  the  chance  meet- 
ing which  seemed  to  mean  so  much  to  them  all. 
He  had  already  planned  a  picnic  in  Lincoln  Park 
for  the  very  next  Sunday.  The  Roths  were  great 
picnickers. 

Nellie  descended  at  George  Avenue  and  walked 
briskly  down  the  shady  street.  Murchison,  com- 
ing after  her  with  Roth,  noticed  that  she  carried 


134      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

herself  well  and  that  she  lifted  Her  dress  gracefully, 
disclosing  a  silk  petticoat  which  seemed  to  whisper 
of  dainty  ankles. 

"This  is  the  most  beautiful  street"  in  this  city," 
Roth  chattered  joyously.  "My  wife  and  I  are  very 
contented.  See  how  beautiful  is  the  view  from 
here."  Though  he  knew  English'  perfectly  and 
could  write  it  without  error,  there  was  an  occa- 
sional twist  to  his  sentences  when  he  talked  that 
betrayed  the  German.  "There  are  trees  the  whole 
length,  making  a  vista,  and  at  the  end  a  bit  of  the 
Lake  gleams  like  a  mirror.  It  is  just  like  the  coun- 
try here.  Two  men  own  the  whole  of  the  street, 
and  they  will  not  sell,  so  there  are  few  houses  on  it 
built.  There  are  many  lilacs  in  front  of  that  house. 
In  the  spring  they  smell  sweet.  That  is  a  wild 
grape-vine  yonder,  growing  over  a  dead  tree.  See 
how  green  and  luxuriant  it  is.  And  the  grapes  are 
good,  too.  My  wife  makes  jelly  of  them.  We  have 
such  sport  gathering  them!  The  whole  family 
conies  with  a  basket." 

"That's  a  fine-looking  woman  ahead  of  us,"  haz- 
arded Murchison.  "Is  she  a  neighbor  of  yours?" 

"Yes,  that's  Mrs.  Chapin — our  bride.  She  lives 
in  the  flat  below  us.  We  live  in  the  top  flat.  We 
have  a  view  of  the  Lake.  You  ought  to  see  it  from 


That's  a  fine-looking 
woman  ahead  of  us 


CULTURE   IN   A   FLAT  135 

our  kitchen  window.  My  wife  and  I  look  at  it  for 
hours.  It  has  so  many  expressions  as  a  man — as 
the  face  of  God.  On  stormy  days  it  is  wild  and 
terrible,  tumbling,  tumbling,  as  far  as  the  eye  can 
see.  When  the  day  is  still  and  tfie  sun  shines,  it 
smiles  as  though  the  whole  world  were  smiling. 
Our  kitchen  is  a  wonderful  place,  Mr.  Murchison. 
Wunderschon,  my  wife  and  I  call  it.  You  have 
also  a  view  of  tKe  Lake,  I  believe,  Mr.  Murchison  ?" 

"Yes ;  all  my  front  windows  look  out  upon  it. 
I  have  bought  the  riparian  rights,  to  prevent  any- 
body from  building  in  front  of  me  and  spoiling  my 
view." 

"Ah,  then  your  front  rooms  are  just  as  pleasant 
as  our  kitchen!  There  is  where  we  live — where 
Mrs.  Chapin  is  just  going  in.  That  is  my  little 
boy  coming  to  meet  me." 

"Ah,"  said  Murchison,  "he's  a  fine  little  fellow. 
What  does  her  husband  do  for  a  living?" 

"Whose  husband?  Oh,  Harry  Chapin.  He's 
connected  witK  a  real  estate  firm — Blodgett  and 
Blodgett.  Hello,  Fritz!  Come  on,  Fritz!  Oop- 
te-day!"  And  Roth  tossed  a  flaxen-haired  child 
of  three  years  several  times  from  the  walk  to  tKe 
length  of  his  arms. 

"What  did  you  bought  me,  papa;  what  did  you 
bought  me?  Did  you  bought  me  anything?"  in- 


136      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

quired  the  child,  trying  to  reach  his  tiny  hand  into 
his  father's  side-pocket. 

"He  is  indeed  a  fine  lad,"  repeated  the  Magnate, 
putting  his  hand  on  the  boy's  head  while  he  glanced 
at  Chapin's  front  window.  "Here,  my  boy,  is  ten 
cents.  You  can  go  and  buy  yourself  some  candy." 

"What  do  you  say,  Fritz  ?"  prompted  Roth,  stoop- 
ing low  and  whispering  in  the  child's  ear.  The 
father  was  very  anxious  that  Fritz  should  show  his 
training;  but  the  boy  broke  away  and  ran  into  the 
hall. 

"Fritz !  Fritz !"  called  the  father. 

"Ah,  there's  Mrs.  Chapin  at  the  window  now," 
observed  the  Magnate.  "She's  looking  in  a  book. 
She's  evidently  interested  in  books." 

"I  should  say  so!  She  is  studying  French,  and 
she  belongs  to  a  woman's  literary  club — The  Gar- 
den City  I  believe  they  call  it.  You  see,  this  is 
just  like  a  country  town  out  here.  We  all  know 
everything  about  each  other's  business." 

"Well,  good  night,  Mr.  Roth,"  said  Murchison. 
"Give  my  regards  to  your  good  wife." 

This  last  show  of  interest  was  almost  more  than 
the  simple,  kindly-hearted,  imaginative  Roth  could 
bear.  He  felt  as  though  God  were  too  good  to  him. 
He  caught  his  boy  in  his  arms  and  bounded  up  the 
stairs  two  steps  at  a  time. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  STEIN  ON  THE  TABLE 

The  first  summer  of  Harry's  wedded  bliss  passed 
away,  and  autumn  came  in  a  single  night.  Only 
last  evening  there  was  a  merry  throng  of  bathers 
at  the  beach  near  the  foot  of  George  Avenue.  Roth 
sat  on  a  bench  till  ten  o'clock  watching  the  ships 
go  by,  far  out  in  the  Lake.  The  "Whaleback,"  the 
"Virginia,"  he  knew  them  all  by  the  arrangement 
of  their  lights — for  all  that  could  be  seen  of  them 
at  that  hour  consisted  of  lines  and  clusters  of  elec- 
tric lights  moving  over  the  face  of  the  waters.  He 
knew  where  they  came  from  and  whither  they  were 
going;  and  he  loved,  as  he  smoked  his  five-cent 
cigars,  to  imagine  himself  and  his  wife  sailing  away 
somewhere  together;  down  the  castle-gemmed 
Rhine,  in  the  sky-blue  Mediterranean,  starred  with 
islands,  along  the  Dalmatian  coast,  fringed  with 
white  villages.  Mr.  Roth  smoked  five-cent  cigars 
with  much  satisfaction  because  he  had  actually 
brought  himself  to  believe  that  they  were  better 
137 


138      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

than  the  more  expensive  varieties.  He  always  took 
his  wife  with  him  on  his  imaginary  sailings  for  the 
reason  that  he  thought  her  the  most  beautiful  and 
desirable  woman  on  earth.  He  smoked  his  cigar 
on  summer  evenings  by  the  Lake  front  because  the 
acrid  smell  set  the  baby  to  coughing  and  waked  it 
up.  He  would  have  foregone  the  luxury  entirely, 
but  his  wife  would  not  permit  th'e  sacrifice. 

Only  last  night  the  air  was  sultry  and  a  great, 
straw-colored  harvest  moon  looked  down  on  a  world 
of  fairy  waters,  of  young  lovers  strolling  in  the 
shadow,  of  murmurings  and  soft  laughter  beneath 
the  trees.  Only  yesterday  the  toilers  in  the  heart 
of  the  great  plutonic  city  were  sweltering  and  gasp- 
ing in  the  heat,  and  the  columns  of  smoke  floated 
to  heaven  luridly  in  a  yellow  glare  of  sun.  To-day 
men  walking  on  the  streets  felt  a  ring  of  cold  about 
their  ankles  above  their  low  shoes,  and  wondered  if 
their  last  year's  light  overcoats  would  do.  The 
chariots  of  a  great  wind  had  swept  across  the  Lake 
during  the  night,  with  much  thundering  of  onward 
driven  waves;  and  the  slanting  lances  of  the  rain 
fell  for  hours.  The  rafts  and  logs  of  tfie  swim- 
mers had  been  tossed  wantonly  ashore,  and  some  of 
the  benches  nearest  the  beach'  were  beaten  into 
kindling  wood. 

Harry  and  Roth  came  home  on  tKe  same  car 


A   STEIN   ON   THE   TABLE         139 

and  walked  together  from  the  barns  through  a 
light,  silvery  drizzle.  The  men,  though  as  differ- 
ent mentally  as  it  is  possible  for  two  men  to  be,  were 
fast  friends.  Their  hearts  and  their  love  of  human 
companionship  was  their  point  of  contact.  So  it 
is  possible  for  real  friendship  to  exist  between  peo- 
ple who  do  not  speak  the  same  language. 

"Well,  we'll  have  to  get  our  fall  overcoats  out 
of  hock!"  laughed  Harry. 

"Is  your  overcoat  in  pawn?"  asked  Roth,  sym- 
pathetically. "Perhaps  I  could  loan  you  some  or 
a  part  for  a  few  days.  I  will  ask  my  wife." 

"No,  thanks,"  replied  Harry.  "I  was  only  jok- 
ing. I  meant  that  summer  is  actually  over  at  last. 
Isn't  that  a  lonely  prospect,  though?"  he  asked, 
looking  in  at  the  gate  of  a  summer  garden.  "They'll 
hardly  do  any  more  business  this  year." 

Each  table  was  tipped,  with  one  end  resting  on 
a  chair.  The  chairs  were  grouped  about  the  tables 
all  slantingly,  so  that  the  rain  should  run  off  from 
their  seats.  The  tawdry  curtain  was  taken  down, 
disclosing  a  bare  and  cheerless  stage.  A  few  yel- 
low leaves,  which  had  fallen  from  one  of  the  trees 
that  justified  the  name  of  "garden,"  were  brushed 
into  a  wet,  dank  heap.  The  place  looked  as  though 
a  wind  had  swept  through  it,  had  tipped  up  the  fur- 
niture, and  torn  away  the  curtain. 


i4o      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"I  never  bring  my  wife  and  family  to  this  place," 
observed  Roth;  "it  is  not  quite  respectable." 

"I  haven't  been  to  a  summer  garden  since  I  was 
married,"  said  Harry,  with  an  almost  imperceptible 
sigh.  "She  does  not  care  for  such  things.  She 
does  not  think  they  improve  the  mind.  I  used  to 
go  to  the  Bismarck  a  good  deal  before  I  was  mar- 
ried, and  I  even  came  here  once  in  a  while.  Josey 
Gregory  used  to  sing  here.  She  was  a  peach — 
funnier  than  a  goat.  Ever  hear  her  sing  'Georgie, 
Georgia,  Next  Time  You  Drink,  You'll  Drink  with 
Me'?" 

"N — no,  I  don't  believe  I  ever  have." 

"You  ought  to  hear  her.  But  maybe  you  don't 
enjoy  that  sort  of  thing.  I  do,  when  I'm  tired — 
sort  of  rests  a  man.  But  you  can't  get  out  of  a 
place  like  this  without  spending  a  dollar  or  two. 
You're  sure  to  meet  some  one  you  know,  and  he'll 
set  'em  up,  and  then  you  feel  like  a  beat  if  you  don't 
ask  him  to  take  something,  and  every  flip  out  of 
the  box  means  a  quarter.  When  a  man's  married 
he  must  drop  all  that.  He  owes  it  to  his  wife,  too." 

"Then  he  just  begins  to  enjoy  life,  is  it  not  so?" 
cried  Roth.  "For  he  and  his  wife  can  enjoy  things 
together,  and  he  takes  double  pleasure  in  knowing 
that  she  is  having  a  good  time." 

As  they  passed  down  George  Avenue,  the  Ger- 


A    STEIN   ON    THE   TABLE          141 

man  stooped  and  picked  up  a  dead  butterfly. 
"Look,"  he  cried ;  "here  is  the  surest  sign  that  sum- 
mer is  over.  The  life  of  these  little  creatures  with 
summer  time  ends.  You  will  see  them  flitting 
about  for  several  days  longer,  slower,  slower  every 
day,  as  the  life  of  summer  itself  ebbs.  The  first 
sharp  frost  will  kill  them,  all  that  are  left  alive. 
See  how  this  one  has  the  true  autumn  tints  in  his 
wings !  Above  is  a  dull  red,  as  though  the  embers 
of  a  dying  fire  were  glowing  through  smoke.  And 
here,  on  the  under  side,  his  wings  are  the  dead 
golden  hue  of  the  sky  just  after  sunset — and  do 
not  these  bars  look  like  tHe  limbs  of  a  leafless  tree 
standing  against  a  patch  of  sky?" 

"You  ought  to  be  a  poet !"  laughed  Harry.  "You 
talk  like  a  book  that  my  wife  was  reading  from  the 
other  evening." 

"I  have  some  poems  written,"  said  Mr.  RotK 
modestly,  "but  they  are  mere  nothings.  If  I  could 
write  all  I  feel,  perhaps  they  would  be  better.  Did 
you  hear  the  tree-toads  last  night?" 

"No." 

"Well  then,  you  will  not  be  likely  to  hear  them 
again  this  year.  They  are  the  last  chorus  of  sum- 
mer. You  will  hear  the  silver  chirp  of  a  cricket 
here  and  there  for  several  days,  perhaps  weeks 
longer.  When  the  white  aspens  in  the  park  twinkle 


142      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD, 

in  the  cool  breezes,  when  greenish-yellow  leaves  be- 
gin to  drift  and  swirl  on  the  walks,  and  lone  but- 
terflies, whose  mates  are  dead,  wander  through  the 
gray  air,  then  you  feel  that  summer  is  over  and 
gone.  Then  in  your  heart  you  a  strange  sadness 
feel,  a  faint  longing  as  for  a  beautiful  clime  or 
country  that  you  have  loved  and  to  which  you  must 
say  farewell.  For  summer  and  winter,  those  are 
two  different  countries,  are  they  not?" 

"I  should  say  that  there's  difference  enough 
here  between  summer  and  winter,"  assented  Harry. 
"One  doesn't  have  to  be  a  poet  to  see  that." 

They  ran  up  the  stairs  together,  and  Harry  found 
a  note  from  Nellie  pinned  to  his  door.  It  read : 

"Dear  Harry,  we  are  to  have  a  lecture  on  French 
literature  this  afternoon,  in  the  French  language, 
by  Professor  Max  Hennequin,  of  Paris,  and  after 
that  we  are  all  to  take  tea  at  Mrs.  Balcom's.  Dur- 
ing tea  nothing  but  French  will  be  spoken,  and  the 
professor  will  be  with  us.  You  will  find  twenty- 
five  cents  in  the  vase  on  the  mantel,  and  you  had 
better  go  down  to  that  nice  little  restaurant  oppo- 
site the  Lessing  and  get  your  supper.  Be  a  good 
boy.  I'll  be  home  early. 

"Yours  affectionately, 

"NELLIE." 


A   STEIN   ON    THE   TABLE          143 

"I  say,  old  man,  listen  to  this !"  Harry  cried  after 
Roth.  "Isn't  my  wife  right  in  it?"  and  the  proud 
husband  read  the  letter  to  the  German. 

"Mrs.  Chapin  is  indeed  an  intellectual  woman," 
affirmed  Roth  with  conviction,  "and  you  have  just 
cause  to  be  proud  of  her.  And  now  you  must  come 
up  to  supper  witK  us." 

Harry  did  not  demur.  He  felt  a  little  lonely, 
and  the  prospect  of  eating  with  tKat  loving  and 
cheerful  family  appealed  to  him.  Besides,  he  had 
formed  a  great  liking  for  Fritz. 

"Mama,  I  have  brought  Mr.  Chapin  up  to  sup- 
per with  me,"  said  Roth,  opening  the  door. 

There  was  a  loud  shout  in  the  kitchen  of,  "Oh, 
papa!  Ho,  papa!"  And  an  astonishing  clatter,  as 
Fritz  poured  an  armful  of  assorted  playthings  on 
the  floor.  Then  he  came  running  down  the  hall, 
shouting,  "What  did  you  bought,  papa?  What 
did  you  bought  me?"  His  tiny  feet  made  an  al- 
ternate clatter  and  thud  on  the  bare  floor,  showing 
plainly  that  he  had  one  shoe  on  and  one  shoe  off. 

When  he  burst  into  the  room  he  produced  the 
feeling  of  surprise  that  so  small  a  person  could 
make  so  much  noise.  He  was  a  beautiful,  sturdy 
little  fellow,  with  flaxen  hair,  big  blue  eyes,  and  the 
face  of  a  fat  cherub.  He  wore  little  blue  trousers, 
reaching  to  the  knees  and  buttoned  to  a  red  waist. 


144      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

Both  His  chubby  legs  were  bare,  for,  though  he 
wore  his  right  shoe,  the  stocking  had  come  loose 
and  fallen  down  over  it. 

"What  did  you  bought  me?"  he  repeated  as  his 
father  picked  him  up. 

"His  father  spoils  him,"  said  Mrs.  Roth,  who, 
after  nodding  genially  to  Harry,  hurriedly  gathered 
up  two  or  three  articles  that  tended  to  make  the 
room  look  untidy  and  tossed  them  into  the  sleeping 
room.  "He  brings  him  something  home  nearly 
every  night." 

SHe  was  a  plump  little  woman,  with  an  abundance 
of  soft  brown  hair.  Her  face  was  somehow  attrac- 
tive, despite  the  fact  that  it  was  badly  pock-marked. 
The  features  were  those  of  the  better  type  of  Aus- 
trian peasant — brow  broad  and  low,  lips  and  nose 
rather  thick.  She  wore  a  gray  dress  that  did  not 
fit  her  very  well,  and  her  form  was  such  as  Byron 
probably  means  when  he  says  "a  dumpy  woman." 
Her  voice  was  sweet  as  a  lullaby,  and,  as  Harry  soon 
learned,  she  spoke  but  seldom.  Her  eyes  were  hazel 
— «hy  and  tender — those  of  a  loved  and  loving 
woman. 

RotK  gave  Fritz  a  glass  marble,  too  big  for  the 
boy  to  get  in  his  mouth.  Then  he  seized  his  wife 
about  the  waist,  grunting  playfully  as  though  he 


A   STEIN   ON   THE   TABLE         145 

meant  to  squeeze  her  to  death,  and  kissed  her 
squarely  on  the  lips. 

"Haven't  you  got  any  sense  ?"  she  giggled,  blush- 
ing like  a  girl. 

"Well,  sit  down,  Mr.  Chapin,"  said  Roth.  "It's 
just  as  cheap  as  standing.  Whew,  I  have  an  appe- 
tite like  one  dog.  Frieda,  see  if  there's  two  bottles 
of  German  champagne  on  the  ice." 

"Let  I  go  wiv  you,  mama.  Let  I  go  wiv  you," 
cried  Fritz,  seizing  his  mother's  dress  and  following 
in  her  wake.  A  moment  later  Ke  returned  shouting, 
"There's  free,  four,  six,  eight  bottlings." 

"Oh,  you  little  rascal!"  laughed  Roth.  "You 
have  not  much  idea  given.  I  think  I'll  have  to  go 
and  see  for  myself.  Come  out  into  the  kitchen, 
Mr.  Chapin,  and  see  the  view  from  our  window 
there.  We  are  very  lucky  to  have  this  top  flat  be- 
cause the  next  House  doesn't  shut  off  our  view." 

Mrs.  Roth  stood  at  the  kitchen  table,  with  her 
sleeves  rolled  up,  making  a  potato  salad.  Her  arms 
were  round  and  pretty.  Harry  thought  of  one 
night  at  Mrs.  Hutchins'  when  He  and  Nellie  made 
potato  salad  together,  and  that  strange  thrill  went 
through  him  again  which  he  had  felt  at  the  touch 
of  the  red-gold  hair  upon  his  cheek.  He  looked  at 
little  Fritz  standing  on  a  ch'air  beside  Mrs.  Roth 


I46      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

and  trying  to  get  his  chubby  hands  into  the  salad, 
and  a  great  longing  for  children,  for  a  family  of  his 
own,  came  over  him. 

"See  wliat  a  full  sweep  of  the  Lake  we  get  from 
this  window,"  said  Roth.  "Down  town  now,  the 
great  buildings  are  all  enveloped  in  a  dim  leaden 
pall,  and  the  black,  tumbled  clouds  from  the  sky 
come  down  and  mingle  with  the  smoke  that  from 
the  city  rises.  TKe  buildings  look  like  ghosts  of 
buildings,  formed  out  of  the  mist  and  smoke — so 
dark  gray  they  are,  so  like  in  color  to  the  day.  But 
here  is  the  clean  Lake  and  the  slanting  rain.  And 
see,  the  evening  sun  gleams  through,  and  all  the  lead 
to  silver  turns.  The  Lake  and  the  sky  mingle  to- 
gether in  a  soft  mist  out  yonder,  and  if  you  watch, 
sometimes  you  can  see  a  sailing  vessel  melt  into  it 
and  so  disappear.  There,  there  goes  one  now! 
Wouldn't  you  like  to  take  your  wife  and  sail  away 
on  it,  away,  away?  Come  on,  mem  S chats!" 

"My  wife  don't  like  the  Lake  for  a  cent,"  said 
Harry.  "It  makes  her  sea-sick.  We  haven't  been 
over  to  St.  Joe  since  we  were  married." 

"Maybe  Mr.  Chapin  can't  eat  what  we've  got," 
observed  Mrs.  Roth.  "Soup,  frankfurters  and  po- 
tato salad,  and  home-made  strudel" 

"Try  me  and  see !"  cried  Harry.  "I  don't  think 
I  shall  back  away  from  that  bill  of  fare." 


A    STEIN    ON    THE   TABLE          147 

"Why,  that's  a  meal  for  tKe  kaiser !"  cried  RotH. 

Harry  enjoyed  that  dinner.  Grandpa  Roth  and 
Evalina  came  in  on  time,  and  they  were  seven,  all 
told,  counting  the  baby,  who  woke  up  and  was 
wheeled  into  the  dining  room  in  its  carriage.  Evalina 
looked  very  chic  and  American,  and  her  curl  gave 
her  a  coquettish  air.  The  old  man  was  chiefly  re- 
markable for  his  vast  amount  of  gray,  disheveled 
hair,  which  seemed  to  grow  with  equal  profusion 
on  his  face  and  his  head.  He  had  mastered  the 
English  language  fairly  well  with  the  exception  of 
the  verb.  He  persisted  in  using  the  past  tense  with 
such  auxiliaries  as  did.  "Didn't  I  told  you  so?"  was 
a  favorite  expression  of  his.  He  pulled  the  baby  car- 
riage around  near  him,  where  he  could  reach  it  witH 
his  hand  and  move  it  to  and  fro  if  the  little  one 
showed  any  signs  of  uneasiness.  He  devoted  much 
of  his  time  during  the  dinner  to  amusing  the  baby. 

"That's  grandpa's  baby,"  observed  Evalina.  "He 
named  it  himself  and  won't  hardly  let  anybody  else 
look  at  it." 

"What  did  you  call  it?"  Harry  asked  the  old  man. 

"Bismarck  Goethe,"  replied  grandpa  proudly. 
"Bismarck  Goethe  Roth,  after  the  two  greatest  men 
that  ever  lived !" 

"It's  a  splendid  name,"  agreed  Harry.  "He  can't 
help  making  his  mark  with  a  handle  like  that." 


I48      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"There,  didn't  I  told  you  so  ?  You  see  what  this 
gentleman  thinks  ?" 

"It's  too  absurd,"  giggled  Evalina.  "I'm  glad  you 
didn't  name  me.  I  wonder  what  ridiculous  combi- 
nation you'd  have  found  for  me?" 

"I  wouldn't  take  the  trouble  to  name  a  girl,"  re- 
plied the  old  man  disdainfully.  "I  don't  have  to," 
he  added  proudly. 

"You's  sittin'  in  a  high  chair,  and  I'se  sittin' 
in  a  high  chair,  just  like  a  'zackly  as  you,"  observed 
Fritz  inconsequentially. 

"What  do  you  eat?"  asked  Harry.  "Does  mama 
give  you  sausage?" 

"Oh,  he  eats  everything,"  replied  Mrs.  Roth. 
"This  is  his  dinner  that  I  am  fixing  now.  Here, 
papa,  pass  Fritz  his  dinner." 

"Hoo,  such  a  big  much,  such  a  big  much !"  cried 
Fritz,  delightedly.  And,  taking  his  spoon,  he  care- 
fully separated  the  different  items  on  his  plate. 

"Don't  do  that,  Fritz,"  commanded  his  father. 
"What  a  naughty  trick  that  is.  You'll  push  all  your 
food  on  to  the  table.  The  potato  doesn't  hurt  the 
sausage." 

Fritz  turned  to  Harry  chanting:  "Pittayters 
don't  hurt  sausage,  sausage  don't  hurt  beans,  beans 
don't  hurt  pittayters — "  Then  he  stopped  and  stu- 
died the  plate.  Being  unable  to  master  further  the 


A    STEIN    ON    THE   TABLE          149 

subject  of  mathematical  combinations,  he  compro- 
mised by  stuffing  an  enormous  spoonful  of  potato 
salad  into  his  mouth. 

Harry  laughed  immoderately.  "He's  as  bright 
as  a  dollar !"  he  cried. 

After  dinner  Fritz  stood  upon  the  step  of  his 
high  chair  and  invited  Harry,  "Feel  if  my  tum- 
mick's  full."  Harry  complied,  and  announced  that 
it  was  as  full  as  a  tick. 

"That's  a  ceremony  that  his  grandfather  usually 
performs,"  ventured  Evalina. 

After  supper  there  was  music  in  the  front  par- 
lor. Roth  sang  two  or  three  sentimental  German 
songs,  and  responded  to  an  encore  with  "Just  3L 
Song  at  Twilight."  The  old  man,  who  was  a  genu- 
ine musician,  played  Schubert's  serenade  exquisitely, 
and  Mendelssohn's  "Spring  Song." 

About  ten  o'clock  Harry  heard  Nellie  come  in, 
and  at  the  invitation  of  the  entire  Roth  family,  he 
ran  down  to  invite  her  up.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed 
with  excitement  and  with  exercise,  and  Harry 
thought  he  had  never  seen  her  looking  more  beauti- 
ful. She  positively  refused  to  go  up  to  tKe  Roths', 
however. 

"They're  common  people,"  she  said,  taking  off 
her  hat  and  thrusting  the  long  pin  through'  it. 
"There's  nothing  to  be  learned  from  them.  And 


1 50      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

what  a  lot  of  children  they  have!  That  woman 
would  have  made  a  good  Eve.  She's  capable  of 
being  the  mother  of  the  whole  Human  family." 

Harry  thought  this  remark  very  bright,  but  it 
jarred  upon  him. 

Fortunately,  he  did  not  know  that  Nellie  had 
heard  a  vicious  woman  say  the  same  thing  that  very 
afternoon,  a  propos  of  an  acquaintance  who  had 
recently  become  a  mother. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AT  THE  PIERIAN   SPRING 

By  the  time  Nellie  was  married  two  years  she 
became  a  prominent  member  of  the  Garden  City 
Club;  and  she  even  read  two  papers  before  that 
strenuous  body,  one  on  "Kipling  Compared  with 
Macaulay  as  a  Writer  of  Ballads,"  and  another  on 
"The  Art  and  Literature  of  Ancient  Athens."  She 
devoted  a  month  to  the  preparation  of  the  second 
paper,  and  won  much  praise  for  the  thoroughness 
with  which  she  covered  the  field.  It  was  during 
this  month  that  both  she  and  Harry  became  con- 
vinced of  the  necessity  of  hiring  a  domestic.  This 
was  the  epoch,  too,  of  Ker  career  when  she  first 
contracted  the  habit  of  wearing  a  long  lead  pencil 
stuck  through  her  chignon.  In  these  two  years  Nel- 
lie grew  so  brilliant  that  her  admirers  occasionally 
wondered  how  such  an  intellectual  woman  ever  came 
to  marry  so  ordinary  a  person  as  Chapin. 

It  was  Nellie  who  suggested  the  idea  of  giving  a 
"Poets'  Night"  at  the  club.  After  considerable  cor- 


1 52      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

respondence,  for  Nellie  had  arisen  to  the  dignity 
of  secretary,  five  men  and  a  woman  who  had  act- 
ually published  volumes  of  verse  agreed  to  appear 
and  read  from  their  writings.  When  the  evening 
arrived  an  unusually  large  throng  gathered  in  the 
lodge  room  hired  by  the  club.  For  at  least  thirty 
minutes  before  eight  o'clock  the  lifts  of  the  Masonic 
Temple  were  shooting  loads  of  humanity  up  through 
their  long  shafts  to  the  twelfth  floor,  and  the  ladies 
of  the  club  were  crowding  the  ante-room,  eager  to 
receive  the  complaisant  poets  and  to  overwhelm 
them  with  welcome  and  adulation.  Among  these 
was  Nellie,  tall  and  gracious. 

Excitement  added  color  to  her  cheeks,  but  the  ner- 
vousness of  the  first  days  of  club  life  had  given  place 
to  the  queenly  dignity  and  the  majestic  poses  of  the 
cloak  model.  She  profited  unconsciously  by  this 
training,  though  that  dreadful  period  was  to  her 
now  little  more  than  an  unpleasant  dream. 

Poor  Carrie  Vinne  had  long  ago  been  made  to 
feel  that  she  belonged  to  a  past  which  Nellie  wished 
to  forget. 

At  ten  minutes  past  eight  every  seat  in  the  club 
room  was  filled,  as  well  as  the  benches  along  the 
wall.  The  Madam  President  sat  at  a  desk,  nervous- 
ly fingering  the  handle  of  a  gavel,  and  Nellie,  proud 
and  confident,  was  by  her  side.  The  poets,  safety 


AT   THE   PIERIAN    SPRING          153 

corralled,  sat  in  a  line  on  a  bench  in  front  of  the 
platform,  and  a  smile  of  triumph  overspread  the 
Madam  President's  features  as  she  gazed  fondly 
down  upon  them.  At  ten  minutes  past  eight  the 
lady  looked  at  her  watch  and  tapped  sharply  on 
the  desk.  She  arose,  and  announced  in  a  clear  busi- 
ness-like tone : 

"The  meeting  will  now  come  to  order.  We  will 
wait  no  longer  for  our  famous  poet,  Mr.  Bruce  Rye, 
who  promised  to  be  with  us  this  evening.  Doubt- 
less Mr.  Rye  is  at  this  moment  in  the  throes  of 
composition — is  writing  out  one  of  those  sublime 
masterpieces  which  have  made  his  name  a  house- 
hold word  wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken, 
and  has  forgotten  his  promise  to  be  with'  us.  In 
any  case  we  must  excuse  him,  for  we  all  know  that 
poets  are  not  like  us  common  mortals  and  must  not 
be  held  accountable  for  their  actions.  [Ripples  of 
laughter  and  much  craning  of  necks  to  see  if  the 
corralled  poets  were  also  laughing.]  But  there 
is  no  reason  why  this  audience  should  be  kept  wait- 
ing longer.  We  have  with  us  to-night  an  aggrega- 
tion of  genius  such  as  Has  never  before  appeared 
under  one  roof  in  America.  [More  craning  of 
necks  to  see  if  any  of  the  poets  were  blushing.  Sup- 
pressed applause.]  This  is  a  proud  night  for  the 
Garden  City  Club.  No  other  club  in  the  West  has 


154      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

ever  offered  such  a  feast  of  reason,  such  a  flow  of 
soul,  as  awaits  this  club  to-night  and  its  distin- 
guished guests — for  I  see  in  the  audience  some  of 
the  most  distinguished  citizens  of  this  city." 

Every  one  present  not  a  member  looked  con- 
scious. There  was  a  rustling  and  a  scraping  of 
feet  as  people  in  the  front  rows  looked  over  their 
shoulders.  Many  eyes  were  focused  upon  Mr. 
Philip  Murchison,  who  was  a  frequent  guest,  and 
was  present  upon  this  red-letter  evening. 

"But  I  will  not  keep  you  waiting  longer  than  is 
necessary.  The  secretary  will  read  the  minutes  of 
the  last  meeting."  The  Madam  President  sat  down. 
She  was  a  plump,  dark  woman,  fifty  years  of  age, 
dressed  in  black.  Very  short  white  gloves  con- 
stricted her  fat,  red  wrists  just  above  the  base  of 
the  thumb,  as  though  strangling  them.  She  had 
snapping  black  eyes,  and  she  spoke  with  much  con- 
fidence and  equal  fluency. 

Nellie  arose,  and  a  faint  whisper,  tributary  to 
her  beauty,  was  heard  in  different  parts  of  the 
room.  Women  were  saying :  "Isn't  she  beautiful  ?" 

"Just  lovely !" 

"Such  a  stately  creature!" 

"What  a  magnificent  figure !" 

Two  pairs  of  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  face  so 
intently  that  she  did  not  dare  look  up  from  Her  paper 


AT   THE   PIERIAN   SPRING         155 

for  fear  of  losing  her  place.  They  belonged  to  two 
men  who  were  inexpressibly  bored  by  the  intellectual 
inducements  of  the  club,  but  who  came  there  fre- 
quently just  to  see  Nellie.  These  were  Mr.  Philip 
Murchison,  Magnate,  and  Mr.  Gifford  Dare,  artist. 
The  latter  had  but  recently  made  her  acquaintance, 
and  the  former  had  not  as  yet  hit  upon  any  plan  for 
seeing  her  elsewhere. 

"Rooms  of  the  Garden  City  Club,  December 
seventh,  nineteen  hundred,"  read  Nellie.  "Madam 
President  in  the  chair.  The  meeting  was  called  to 
order  at  eight  sharp.  Minutes  of  the  preceding  meet- 
ing were  read  and  approved.  The  Madam  President 
then  introduced  Mr.  Charles  Denton,  who  enter- 
tained the  club  and  its  guests  with  an  amusing  ac- 
count of  his  recent  trip  up  the  Nile  River,  in  Egypt. 
Mrs.  Susan  Phenix  moved  that  the  thanks  of  this 
club  be  extended  to  Mr.  Denton  for  his  courtesy  in 
appearing  before  this  club  and  giving  it  a  very 
pleasant  and  instructive  evening.  Motion  seconded 
and  carried.  There  being  no  other  business,  the. 
session  adjourned  at  nine  fifteen." 

"If  there  are  no  objections  the  minutes  will  stand 
approved,"  said  the  Madam  President.  No  one 
seeming  to  have  the  least  objection,  she  declared 
them  so  approved. 

"And  now,"  she  continued,  taking  a  deep  breatH 


156      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

and  throwing  her  head  back  a  little,  "I  have  the 
honor  of  introducing  to  you,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
our  great  epic  poet,  Mr.  Walter  Clancy,  whose 
name  is  as  familiar  in  England  as  it  is  in  America. 
Mr.  Clancy  has  kindly  consented  to  favor  us  with 
a  few  of  the  epics  from  his  latest  volume  of  verse, 
entitled  The  Echoing  Streets.'  " 

Nellie  took  advantage  of  the  expectant  ripple  of 
applause  following  this  announcement  to  glide  into 
the  audience,  that  she  might  face  the  geniuses  as 
they  read  or  recited,  and  that  she  might  not  lose  the 
flashes  of  soul  that  would  be  sure  to  speak  in  their 
eyes  and  upon  their  countenances.  In  this  vigilance 
she  was  joined  by  all  the  other  ladies  in  the  room, 
all  grimly  determined  that  not  the  least  manifesta- 
tion of  soul  should  escape.  It  was  a  veritable  soul 
hunt. 

Mr.  Clancy  was  a  stoutish  man,  whose  baldness 
gave  the  effect  of  an  extremely  high,  intellectual 
forehead.  His  hair  grew  on  each  side  of  a  white 
channel,  like  grass  on  the  banks  of  a  river.  A  few 
long  locks,  combed  across  for  the  purpose  of  inno- 
cent deception,  suggested  to  the  imaginative  mind 
trees  fallen  from  bank  to  bank.  He  laid  his  book 
on  the  high  table  provided,  upon  which  he  rested 
one  hand.  The  other  hand  he  set  on  his  thigh, 
the  arm  akimbo,  and  he  threw  his  right  leg  across 


AT   THE   PIERIAN    SPRING         157 

his  left,  so  that  the  right  foot  stood  perpendicularly 
upon  the  toes.  His  whole  attitude  expressed  con- 
fidence. 

:  The  ladies  did  not  fail  to  notice  that  he  had  large 
expressive  eyes.  One  member  who  sat  on  the  front 
bench  gave  audible  voice  to  her  thoughts  in  a  run- 
ning series  of  ejaculations.  She  was  a  fat  woman, 
with  a  round  face,  and  eyes  of  the  variety  familiarly 
known  as  "pop."  A  disproportionate  amount  of 
white  gave  them  a  bulging  appearance,  and  she  had 
a  startling  way  of  jerking  them  about  in  her  head 
as  though  they  were  worked  by  means  of  springs. 
At  every  ocular  jerk  she  smiled  appreciatively,  as 
though  she  had  espied  a  new  genius. 

Mr.  Clancy  was  a  socialistic  poet,  who  wrote 
really  fine  verses  inspired  by  sympathy  for  the  poor 
and  the  erring.  He  was  very  much  in  earnest,  and 
as  his  sonorous  tones  rang  through  the  room  this 
lady's  voice  could  be  distinctly  heard  in  running 
comment : 

"There's  beauty !"  "There's  sympathy !"  "There's 
pathos !"  "There's  soul !" 

After  Mr.  Clancy  had  finished,  the  president  arose 
and  said:  "It  is  not  necessary  to  make  any  com- 
ment upon  Mr.  Clancy's  performance.  It  speaks 
for  itself.  And  now  I  have  the  honor  and  pleasure 
of  introducing  to  you  a  man  whose  name  is  as  well 


I58      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

known  in  America  and  England  as  that  of  Thomas 
Hood  or  John  G.  Saxe.  Mr.  William  Fish  will  next 
favor  us.  Mr.  Fish  should  really  have  come  a  little 
later  on  the  program.  I  put  him  farther  down  that 
we  might  enjoy  longer  the  pleasures  of  anticipation, 
but  hie  has  begged  me  to  make  this  change,  as  he 
has  to  catch  a  train." 

THe  gentleman  in  question  was  not  sitting  on 
the  seat  with  the  other  celebrities.  He  had  re- 
mained back  in  the  audience,  and  as  he  advanced  he 
made  great  show  of  stumbling  several  times.  When 
he  at  last  stepped  upon  the  stage  he  remarked,  "I 
caught  several  trains  just  now,"  and  waited  a  mo- 
ment to  see  if  any  explanation  were  necessary.  To 
his  great  satisfaction,  a  ripple  of  laughter  greeted 
the  joke,  which  was  an  old  stand-by  of  his ;  and  the 
lady  on  the  front  seat  exclaimed : 

"There's  spontaneity !" 

Mr.  Fish  was  evidently  a  humorist.  He  was  a 
jolly  little  man  with  a  red  face.  He  told  several 
funny  stories,  and  recited  two  poems  in  negro  dia- 
lect. The  first,  entitled  'To'  Ole  Jim,"  was  pa- 
thetic; and  the  second,  "When  the  Persimmon's 
Ripe,"  was  of  lighter  character,  and  began : 

Ole  marster's  feelin'  mighty  good, 
Got  the  autumn  in  he  blood, 


AT   THE   PIERIAN    SPRING          159 

Standin'  straight  an'  walkin'  roun' 
Laik  he's  foot  don'  tech  de  groun': 
Laik  de  air  he  drinkin'  in 
Fotch  his  boyhood  back  agin; 

'An'  I  know  he  been  to  see 
Dot  air  ole  persimmon  tree 
Whar  de  sweet  persimmons  grow 
As  dcy  used  ter,  long  ago. 
Oh,  dese  ole  eyes  full  of  tears, 
Thinkin'  of  dose  blessed  years! 

Then  followed  a  pathetic  reference  to  the  fact 
that  the  two  boys,  white  and  black,  used  to  forget 
the  color  line  while  gathering  persimmons ;  and  that 
the  sight  of  the  ripe  fruit  on  the  tree  brought 
back  a  flitting  feeling  of  youth  to  the  master,  mani- 
fested chiefly  by  the  familiar  tone  in  which  he 
cried,  "Mose,  dem  persimmons  gittin'  ripe !" 

This  would  have  been  a  somewhat  original  poem 
had  not  the  author  landed  master  and  man,  pro- 
phetically, in  Heaven,  with  the  reflection  that  per- 
simmons will  be  ripe  all  tKe  year  round  there,  and 
the  color  line  forgotten  forever.  The  member  upon 
the  front  seat  blew  her  nose,  and  ejaculated, 
"There's  pathos;  there's  delicacy!"  and  there  was  a 
great  buzzing  of  admiration  all  over  the  house. 

Mr.  Fish  was  the  hit  of  the  evening,  and  he  re- 


160      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

sponded  so  willingly  to  repeated  requests  to  keep 
the  platform  that  the  other  lions  became  uneasy 
and  began  to  growl  under  their  breaths.  The 
Madam  President  gave  a  deep  sigh  as  she  rose  to 
her  feet,  as  though  she  were  inhaling  the  volatilized 
soul  with  which  she  felt  the  room  to  be  pervaded. 

"I  am  glad  to-night,"  she  cried,  "that  I  live  in 
this  city!  Not  in  New  York,  Paris,  or  London, 
but  right  here !"  This  sentiment  was  greeted  with 
a  storm  of  applause. 

"What  other  city  of  the  world  can  boast  of  a 
Clancy,  a  Fish,  a  Winston,  a  Hudson,  a  Feehan? 
In  what  other  club  of  the  world  except  the  Garden 
City  is-  it  possible  to  get  all  this  array  of  genius 
together?  I  am  sometimes  laughed  at  when  I  say 
that  we  have  fourteen  poets  as  members  of  this  club. 
Let  people  come  and  see  for  themselves.  We  can 
produce  them.  And,  now,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
we  are  sorry  that  Mr.  FisK  has  finished,  but  we 
shall  be  glad  to  have  Mr.  Winston  begin.  He  is  the 
local  James  Whitcomb  Riley,  though  his  name 
is  known  better  across  the  water  than  here,"  and 
she  gave  a  wide  sweep  with'  her  arm,  inclusive  of 
that  indefinite  region  where  so  many  reputations 
are  most  flourishing,  "across  the  water." 

The  poet  Winston,  whose  fame  grazed  at  the 
end  of  so  long  a  tether,  was  a  large,  ungainly  man, 


AT   THE   PIERIAN   SPRING         161 

well  into  the  sixties.  His  hair  and  beard  were 
black,  his  eyebrows  hoary  and  shaggy.  He  had  a 
way  of  lowering  his  head  and  of  looking  upward,  as 
if  he  were  peering  at  the  tips  of  his  eyebrows  while 
he  talked.  It  took  him  several  minutes  to  extricate 
his  glasses  and  his  manuscript  from  the  depths  of 
his  pocket. 

His  principal  contribution  related  to  an  arch 
that  had  been  erected  in  a  Southern  city  to  a  hero 
of  the  Spanish-American  war.  Mr.  Winston  ex- 
plained at  great  length  how  he  had  received  the  in- 
spiration for  this  poem.  During  a  recent  journey 
he  had  seen  this  arch  and  been  struck  with  its  beauty 
and  the  sentiment  which  had  prompted  its  erection. 
Then  he  drifted  off  into  a  long  homily  on  the  beau- 
ties of  patriotism,  and  an  incidental  panegyric  of  the 
flag,  and  a  statement  of  his  willingness  to  lay  down 
his  life  for  the  same,  old  as  he  was.  The  lady  mem- 
ber in  front  ejaculated,  "There's  nobility!"  and  an 
aged  and  red-faced  doctor  in  the  midst  of  the  au- 
dience began  to  snore  loudly. 

"Suddenly  the  thought  occurred  to  me,"  cried 
Mr.  Winston,  "that  there  were  seven  soldiers  with 
this  officer.  Why  were  not  their  names  also  on  the 
arch  ?  I  became  inspired.  I  sat  down  on  a  bench 
in  front  of  a  little  hotel  and  dashed  off  the  lines 
.which  I  am  about  to  read  you  to-night." 


162      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

And  he  began.  The  ballad  was  long,  for  it  con- 
tained a  minute  description  of  the  monument,  and 
an  account  of  the  glorious  deed  which  it  commem- 
orated. 

'And  I  gazed  at  that  arch  which  lifted  high 
The  name  of  one  man  to  heaven, 
'And  I  said,  "It  is  well,  but  where,  oh  where, 
Are  the  names  of  the  other  seven?" 

Mr.  Winston  concluded  with  a  description  of  an- 
other arch  in  heaven,  which  should  have  room  also 
for  the  names  of  the  other  seven. 

"Mr.  Winston  is  one  of  our  fourteen  poets,"  ex- 
plained the  Madam  President.  "We  have  thirteen 
more  just  like  him.  Like  him,  that  is,  in  genius, 
but  differing  from  him  in  style.  Mrs.  Ella  Hudson, 
our  great  mystical  poet,  will  now  read  us  one  of 
Her  effusions.  Mrs.  Hudson,  who,  I  am  happy  and 
proud  to  say,  is  a  member  of  this  club,  has  been 
called  by  some  the  Sappho,  by  others  the  Mrs. 
Browning,  by  others  the  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox,  of 
our  city.  I  compare  her  to  Mrs.  Browning,  while 
she  herself  thinks  her  work  resembles  more  that  of 
Mr.  Browning.  Mrs.  Hudson." 

The  lady's  effusion  was  long,  gruesome,  and  part- 
ly unconscious  o^  meter.  It  described  a  night 


AT   THE    PIERIAN    SPRING         163 

spent  by  a  woman  beside  the  corpse  of  the  man  she 
loved.  Many  of  the  stanzas  were  devoted  to  specu- 
lations as  to  whether  or  not  the  spirit  was  in  the 
room.  "And  if  not,"  sighed  the  poetess,  "if  he  be 
in  regions  far  and  fair,  can  he  see  my  sorrow 
there? 

The  concluding  seven  or  eight  stanzas  discussed 
the  probability  of  catching  the  spirit  if  it  were  flit- 
ting from  star  to  star.  TKe  poem  concluded  with 
the  line — 

Will  I  meet  him,  anywhere? 

The  "  him"  and  the  "wKere"  were  both"  uttered 
with  the  raising  reflection,  and  the  poetess  stood 
for  some  seconds  after  the  last  word,  with  faded  blue 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  northeast  corner  of  the  room, 
above  the  heads  of  the  audience.  One  unpoetic  soul 
turned  and  gazed  over  her  shoulder  in  the  same 
direction  as  though'  she  expected  to  see  a  cobweb 
there. 

Mrs.  Hudson  wore  a  white  lace  cap  tied  under  her 
chin,  making  her  resemble  some  old  print  of  Queen 
Clotilda.  The  effect  of  her  reading  was  somewhat 
marred  by  the  prodigious  snoring  of  th'e  red-faced 
doctor,  whom  an  indignant  member  poked  in  the 
ribs  from  time  to  time,  causing  him  to  break  off 


164      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

with  startled  snorts.  Once  he  grumbled,  "Leave 
me  alone,  Mary;  I'm  not  asleep."  Mary  was  the 
name  of  his  wife,  who  was  not  present. 

"And  now,"  said  the  Madam  President,  "I'll  not 
say  that  we  have  saved  the  dessert  for  the  last,  for 
in  this  feast  all  has  been  dessert." 

"Isn't  she  perfectly  lovely?"  said  one  member  to 
another  in  a  stage  whisper. 

"There's  tact!"  ejaculated  the  lady  in  the  front 
row. 

"But  you  all  know  what  to  expect,"  continued 
the  Madam  President,  "when  I  tell  you  that  we  shall 
now  have  the  honor  and  pleasure  of  listening  to 
our  great  magazine  poet,  Mr.  James  Bruce  Feehan." 

Mr.  Feehan  was  the  only  member  of  the  poetic 
vaudeville  who  had  anything  resembling  access  to 
the  Eastern  magazines.  He  was  a  tall,  thin  man, 
who  parted  his  whiskers  in  the  middle.  He  had 
a  large,  thin,  transparent  nose;  and  the  chief 
study  of  his  life  was  to  appear  esthetic — a  yearning, 
however,  which  was  not  sufficiently  strong  to  make 
him  give  up  chewing  tobacco.  He  wrote  vast  quan- 
tities of  mechanically  perfect  poemettes;  and  he 
was  fond  of  having  himself  photographed  in  soul- 
ful attitudes,  with  his  chin  upon  his  hand,  with 
his  right  finger-tip  touching  his  forehead,  gazing 
at  a  rose  in  his  right  hand,  and  so  forth.  He  read 


AT   THE   PIERIAN   SPRING         165 

six  or  eight  brief  twitterings  upon  the  subject  of 
love,  and  then,  after  bowing  sadly  and  majestically 
to  the  Madam  President,  left  the  room. 

The  Madam  President  announced  the  date  of  the 
next  meeting,  adding : 

"I  can  promise,  almost  with  certainty,  a  rare  in- 
tellectual treat  for  our  next  session.  The  famous 
rising  lawyer  and  orator,  Mr.  Edward  Crissey,  has 
as  good  as  promised  to  lecture  to  us.  If  necessary, 
we  shall  send  a  committee  to  bring  him  by  force. 
The  subject,  as  soon  as  he  selects  one,  will  be  an- 
nounced in  the  papers.  It  will  be  something  inter- 
esting and  improving  to  the  mind.  The  meeting  is 
now  adjourned." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ABOUT  MEN  AND  HORSES 

During  the  progress  of  the  evening,  Nellie  tittered 
several  times,  once  so  loudly  that  frowning  faces 
were  turned  in  her  direction.  It  required  a  power- 
ful counter-attraction  to  make  her  so  far  forget  her- 
self while  poets  were  reciting.  Such  attraction  ex- 
isted in  th'e  attention  and  wit  of  the  celebrated 
esth'ete  and  artist,  Mr.  Gifford  Dare,  who  had  man- 
aged to  crowd  into  a  seat  behind  the  fair  secretary, 
and  was  whispering  a  series  of  amusing  comments 
into  her  ear. 

Mr.  Dare  was  advanced  in  years — he  was  about 
fifty — yet  he  had  the  knack  of  appearing  at  most 
times  to  be  in  the  neighborhood  of  thirty.  Occa- 
sionally, when  one  met  him,  he  seemed  aged,  th'rougK 
fatigue,  perhaps,  or  some  fault  of  costume;  yet  the 
next  time  that  one  saw  him  rejuvenescence  was 
sure  to  have  taken  place.  He  grew  old  as  the  frog 
climbs  the  well  in  the  troublesome  mathematical 
problem — he  was  continually  slipping  back  and  then 
166 


ABOUT   MEN   AND   HORSES        167 

climbing  up  again.  Commercially  successful  as  an 
artist,  he  maintained  luxurious  rooms  in  the  Fine 
Arts  Building,  where  his  walls  were  Hung  with 
original  studies,  and  his  antique  furniture  covered 
with  oriental  rugs.  A  pair  of  Kiskilm  curtains  were 
looped  gracefully  back  in  the  door  of  an  alcove, 
within  which  were  a  Turkish  table  and  a  broad,  low 
divan.  A  manikin  and  a  suit  of  medieval  armor 
added  to  the  picturesqueness  of  the  main  apartment, 
which  was  rendered  more  interesting  by  a  series  of 
costumes  of  all  nations  hanging  "from  hooks  on  the 
wall.  Nellie  had  been  there  once,  in  company  with 
several  other  ladies,  to  view  a  new  painting,  and 
she  had  come  away  much  impressed. 

Mr.  Dare  was  a  picturesque  and  effective  dresser. 
He  studied  the  effect  of  various  costumes  before  his 
mirror  for  hours.  He  delighted  chiefly  in  capes 
and  slouch  hats,  yet  he  was  always  exactly  correct 
upon  every  occasion.  When  the  golf  season  was  on 
he  might  be  seen  even  in  his  studio,  attired  in  full 
golf  regalia,  and  he  sometimes  wore  the  high,  glazed 
boots  and  velvet  trousers  of  the  riding  habit ;  though, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  abhorred  golf  itself  and  would 
no  more  have  mounted  a  horse  than  a  rhinoceros. 

Mr.  Dare  was  a  great  authority  on  the  number  of 
buttons  that  should  be  worn  on  bicycle  trousers 
just  above  the  stocking;  he  knew  the  correct  length 


168      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

of  a  string  tie  to  a  fraction  of  an  inch ;  and  the  swell 
young  men  about  town  watched  the  shade  of  his 
walking  gloves  solicitously.  He  possessed  the  su- 
preme secret  of  wearing  lively  colors  and  startling 
combinations  without  shocking  the  canons  of  good 
taste. 

As  for  personal  appearance,  the  artist  was  of 
slight,  elegant  figure,  while  for  the  rest,  he  was 
languid,  amusingly  ironical,  and  given  to  saying 
things  that  would  cause  people  to  quote  him.  As 
every  man  has  a  secret  ambition  which  is  a  greater 
passion  than  his  life's  work,  so  Mr.  Dare  longed 
to  be  known  for  his  apt  and  nimble  wit. 

"I  am  going  to  'save  myself,'  as  the  French  say, 
as  soon  as  this  thing  is  over,"  he  whispered  to  Nel- 
lie, skilfully  seating  himself  so  that  she  could  reply 
without  twisting  her  neck  too  much. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Dare,  and  we  have  such  interesting  dis- 
cussions after  the  adjournment  I" 

"You  won't  to-night,"  he  muttered.  "Unsuccess- 
ful poets  are  bad  company." 

"But  these  are  not  unsuccessful." 

"Oh,  yes  they  are — all  except  Feehan,  and  he's 
not  a  poet.  You  can  tell  that  they  are  unsuccessful 
from  the  fact  tftat  they  are  all  jealous  of  him  be- 
cause the  magazines  take  his  stuff.  There's  no 


ABOUT   MEN    AND    HORSES         169 

such  thing  as  jealousy  among  geniuses.  Where  did 
you  find  all  these  freaks,  anyway?" 

"Sh —  If  the  Madam  President  hears  you,  she'll 
never  let  you  come  here  again." 

"Heaven  forbid !  For  then  I  should  lose  my  one 
opportunity  of  seeing  you." 

Nellie  flushed  and  looked  about  her  anxiously. 

"Then  one  is  always  in  mortal  terror  at  an  au- 
thor's reception,  anyway.  He  suffers  from  haunt- 
ing fear  that  one  of  them  may  have  written  some- 
thing that  he  hasn't  read." 

"You  should  be  more — more  patriotic,"  replied 
Nellie,  feeling  for  the  right  word  and  missing  it. 
"You  should  read  the  works  of  the  famous  men  of 
your  own  city." 

She  was  flattered  that  this  great  artist  was  whis- 
pering to  her  and  felt  a  certain  pleasing  excitement 
at  the  adventure. 

"There  are  so  many  famous  authors  in  the 
women's  clubs,"  sighed  the  artist,  "that  one*would 
need  the  memory  of  the  recording  angel  to  keep 
track  of  them.  I  can't  even  remember  the  names 
of  this  batch  to-night — and  it's  considered  impolite, 
when  talking  with  a  famous  author,  to  get  his  name 
wrong." 

"You  must  stay  and  get  acquainted  with  our 
poets,"  said  Nellie.  "They  won't  eat  you." 


170      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD. 

"No  poets  for  me,  thank  you.  One  of  them  might 
present  me  with  a  book." 

"Well — what  would  there  be  so  very  terrible 
about  that  ?" 

"They  always  come  nosing  around  the  next  day 
to  see  if  you  have  cut  the  leaves.  I  always  forget 
that  necessary  ceremony,  and  the  visit  of  inspec- 
tion makes  me  nervous.  A  law  should  be  passed 
prohibiting  the  publishing  of  books  of  verse  with 
uncut  leaves." 

When  Mrs.  Hudson  took  the  floor,  Mr.  Dare  was 
in  great  feather.  With  a  cynic's  logic,  he  felt  that 
he  could  ingratiate  himself  in  one  woman's  favor 
by  ridiculing  another,  especially  when  that  other 
possessed  a  gift  of  which  her  sister  migKt  be  en- 
vious. 

He  leaned  forward  and  languidly  pulled  the  tip 
of  his  drooping  mustache. 

"There's  soul  for  you,"  he  whispered,  "as  our 
dear  sister  on  the  mourner's  bench  would  say." 

Nellie  suddenly  remembered  a  remark  that  she 
had  once  heard  some  one  make  concerning  a  thin, 
soulful  person.  It  did  not  come  to  her  as  a  recol- 
lection ;  it  simply  floated  into  her  consciousness 
through  the  power  of  association. 

"Yes,  she's  all  soul  and  bones,"  she  tittered. 

The  artist  started. 


ABOUT   MEN   AND   HORSES        171 

"By  Jove,  she's  not  stupid,  either!"  he  thought. 
"Now  that's  downright  cruel!"  he  whispered,  ap- 
provingly. 

"Woman's  inhumanity  to  woman,"  retorted  Nel- 
lie. "Do  you  know,"  she  continued,  turning  far- 
ther around  that  she  might  better  face  this  brilliant 
man,  "that  Mrs.  Hudson  is  thinner  than  when  I 
last  saw  her,  and  then  I  thought  that  she  had 
reached  the  limit  ?" 

"She  must  have  dropped  a  bone,"  suggested  Dare. 

It  was  then  that  the  secretary  tittered  so  loudly 
that  the  frowning  faces  were  turned  toward  her. 
It  was  during  this  conversation  that  Mr.  Dare  ob- 
tained permission  to  call. 

The  Madam  President's  announcement  that  the 
meeting  had  adjourned  acted  as  though  she  had 
lifted  the  gate  of  a  dam,  and  a  flood  of  suppressed 
talk  and  enthusiasm  burst  forth.  The  poets  were 
immediately  surrounded,  and  were  questioned  as  to 
their  manner  of  writing,  as  to  how  they  felt  when 
inspired,  as  to  how  they  knew  when  they  were  act- 
ually inspired,  and  so  forth.  One  lady  asked  Mr. 
Clancy  if  there  was  any  way  to  detect  the  difference 
between  real  inspiration  and  pseudo-inspiration,  a 
question  for  which  the  Madam  President  reproved 
her  with  the  remark  that  our  poets  could  not  know, 
as  they  never  felt  any  but  the  genuine  kind. 


172      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

A  nervous,  sallow  lady,  with  a  square  face  and 
thin,  gray  hair,  forced  her  way  through  the  crowd 
with  desperate  eagerness. 

"Can  you  tell  me — "  she  asked,  addressing  first 
one  poet  and  then  another,  but  each  time  her  ques- 
tion was  cut  in  the  middle  by  an  outburst  of  volu- 
bility on  the  part  of  her  sisters.  At  least  twenty 
times  she  cried  shrilly,  "Can  you  tell  me — "  her 
voice  darting  into  the  brief  silences  with  the  swift- 
ness of  a  swallow  flitting  into  an  open  door. 

"I  did  so  want  to  find  out,"  she  explained  to  a 
friend,  as  they  were  going  down  in  the  elevator  to- 
gether, "whether  poetry  is  the  true  soul  expression 
or  not.  We  must  be  striving  continually  toward 
the  higher  life,  toward  soul  expansion.  We  must 
give  our  souls  voices !  Oh,  I  wish  we  could  have 
had  a  discussion  on  this  point!  Wouldn't  it  be 
lovely,"  she  gushed,  "if  one  could  look  into  the 
mind  of  a  poet  and  see  all  the  beautiful  thoughts, 
the  delightful  fancies  there !" 

"There  are  some  thoughts  too  beautiful  for  the 
world  to  have,"  sighed  the  friend,  a  female  law- 
yer, with  short  hair,  and  a  respectable  practice  in 
the  probate  court. 

As  the  throng  began  to  disperse,  Mr.  Dare  went 
for  his  cloak  and  hat,  and  then  hastened  back  to  the 
assembly  room  with  the  purpose  of  riding  down 


ABOUT   MEN   AND   HORSES        173 

to  tHe  street  with  Nellie,  and  an  indefinite  thought 
as  to  future  developments.  Perhaps  he  would  even 
offer  to  escort  her  to  her  home  on  the  North  Side, 
though  a  feeling  of  fatigue  penetrated  his  youthful 
veneer  as  he  thought  of  the  long  journey  back  on 
the  street  cars.  He  glanced  at  himself  in  a  full- 
length  mirror  in  the  hall,  and  exulted  in  the  ro- 
mantic figure  which  he  presented  in  his  long  artist's 
cloak.  At  any  rate  he  would  show  himself  to  this 
fair  creature  in  this  becoming  attire.  What  was 
his  disgust  to  meet  her  just  coming  out  on  the 
right  arm  of  Mr.  Murchison,  the  plump,  blond,  and 
effusive  Mrs.  Kimball-Smith  on  his  left. 

"You  both  live  on  the  North  Side,"  the  Magnate 
was  saying  in  his  most  caressing  voice,  "and  right 
in  my  neighborhood,  so  there  is  no  earthly  reason 
why  I  should  not  give  myself  the  pleasure  of  your 
society." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  afraid  we  shall  be  putting  you  out !" 
simpered  Mrs.  Kimball-Smith. 

"On  the  contrary,  you  have  saved  the  situation, 
so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  I  was  so  afraid  I  should 
be  compelled  to  ride  home  alone." 

Mr.  Dare  followed  them  down.  What  was  his 
disgust  to  behold  an  elegant  victoria  waiting.  As 
Mr.  Murchison  approached,  the  footman  leaped 
down  from  his  box,  and  the  beautiful  iron-gray 


174      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

steeds  shook  their  silver-mounted  harness  till  it 
gave  forth  a  silvery  jingling.  The  footman  threw 
open  the  carriage,  and  the  Magnate  helped  in  the 
two  women.  Then  he  stepped  in  and  sat  beside 
Nellie  upon  the  back  seat.  The  electric  light  fell  in 
a  sickly  glare  upon  his  high  forehead,  his  gray  mus- 
tache, his  square  chin.  He  licked  his  fishy  lips  as 
he  looked  at  Nellie  and  said  with  a  familiar  smile : 

"It's  a  glorious  evening.  We  shall  have  a  de- 
lightful drive  through  the  park." 

"Such"  a  fitting  conclusion  to  an  evening  with  the 
poets  1"  cried  Mrs.  Kimball-Smith. 

The  beautiful  steeds  pranced  briskly  away  over 
the  slippery  cobblestones  with  much  clattering  of 
hoofs.  Nellie  sat  up  very  straight  and  rigid,  as  one 
unaccustomed  to  ride  in  carriages,  while  Murchison 
lolled  back  familiarly  in  a  corner.  Dare  stood  look- 
ing after  them  until  they  disappeared  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  bridge. 

"Damned  old  libertine!"  he  muttered  under  his 
breath.  "When  a  man  gets  to  be  gray  as  a  rat,  it's 
about  time  he  began  to  behave  himself."  The  artist 
was  not  gray ;  his  hair  and  mustache  were  dyed. 

But  Dare  was  an  artist  after  all,  whose  religion 
was  love  for  the  beautiful.  His  perception  was  not 
always  the  most  penetrating,  and  the  eyes  of  his  soul 
were  blurred  by  a  fleshy  film,  causing  him  often 


ABOUT   MEN   AND   HORSES        175 

to  miss  the  more  ethereal  and  immortal  revelations 
of  his  god;  yet  a  moonrise  could  make  him  think 
of  his  mother  and  his  childhood,  and  a  really  beau- 
tiful woman  was  his  only  serious  temptation  to 
folly.  Perfection  of  outline,  shapeliness,  the  warm, 
swelling  curves  of  the  living  statue,  carved  by  the 
hands  of  the  Master  Sculptor, — these  things  were 
a  sufficient  joy  to  him.  He  could  have  loved,  in 
his  way,  an  idiot  woman  with  the  features  and  form 
of  a  Psyche. 

He  forgot  Nellie  for  the  moment  now,  as  he  stood 
looking  up  at  the  ancient  moon  sailing  far  above 
among  her  stars.  There  is  something  primeval, 
lonely,  remote,  unfamiliar  about  the  moon,  even 
when  seen  from  a  city  street.  One  feels  as  though 
suddenly  transported  to  the  Heart  of  a  vast  desert, 
to  a  mountain  top,  or  to  the  desolate  shore  of  the 
boundless  sea.  If  a  cab  roll  by  with  its  mysterious 
freight,  or  the  feet  of  a  belated  wanderer  beat  upon 
the  pave,  the  feeling  of  strangeness,  isolation  and 
littleness  is  only  accentuated.  The  vast,  grim  piles 
shrank  to  nothingness  as  the  artist  gazed,  and  the 
clouds  of  black  smoke  pouring  from  a  thousand 
chimneys,  dwindled  to  the  breath  from  the  nostrils 
of  a  sleeping  beast. 

Mr.  Dare  shivered,  lit  a  cigarette,  and  turned  his 
footsteps  toward  Rector's.  WHen  he  ceased  to  look 


176      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

at  the  moon,  he  thought  again  of  the  woman  with 
the  red-gold  hair. 

Meanwhile  Nellie,  Mrs.  Kimball-Smith,  and  the 
Magnate  were  rolling  northward  on  Dearborn  Ave- 
nue. The  harness  jingled  merrily,  the  hoofs  of  the 
splendid  team  thudded  dully  on  the  asphalt  pave, 
and  the  soft  rubber  tires  rolled  noiselessly. 

"It's  a  fine  night/'  observed  the  Magnate. 

"Isn't  it  perfectly  lovely?"  cried  Mrs.  Kimball- 
Smith.  "It's  exactly  full  moon  now." 

Mr.  Murchison  looked  critically  at  the  moon. 

"No,"  he  replied,  "to-morrow  night  it  will  be 
full.  I  can  see  a  little  circular  snip  off  from  the 
left  side.  What  do  you  think,  Mrs.  Chapin  ?" 

"It's  almost  full,"  assented  Nellie. 

"That's  the  effects  of  being  out  late,"  observed 
the  financier,  who  had  not  an  original  mind. 

Mrs.  Kimball-Smith  laughed  merrily.  "Mr. 
Murchison  is  so  droll,"  she  exclaimed.  The  widow 
was  of  a  pretty,  cuddling  sort,  and  the  white  opera 
shawl  which  she  had  thrown  over  her  head  was 
exceedingly  becoming — as  she  very  well  knew. 

"Hold  'em  down  a  little,  Tom,"  said  Mr.  Murchi- 
son to  the  driver.  "That  off  mare,"  he  observed  to 
the  ladies,  "is  a  nervous  beast.  She's  been  on  the 
race  track,  and  she  has  a  habit  of  starting  every  time 
sKe  hears  a  team  coming  up  behind  her.  That's  the 


ABOUT   MEN   AND   HORSES        177 

trouble  with  putting  a  carriage  horse  on  the  race 
track,  especially  if  it's  high-strung.  This  one  has 
trotted  in  two  twenty-two.  I  had  to  have  her, 
because  she  just  matches  Lucy  there.  Her  owner, 
Bob  McCormick — do  you  know  Bob,  Mrs.  Chapin  ?" 
Nellie  did  not.  From  time  to  time  Mr.  Murchison 
would  mention  one  or  another  of  the  city's  million- 
aires, with  the  ingenuous  question,  "Do  you  know 
him?"  And  both  ladies  would  reply,  "Not  er — 
personally.  I  have  heard  of  him." 

The  ex-model  felt  as  though  she  were  dreaming. 

"Bob  didn't  want  to  sell  her,  but  I  had  to  have 
her.  The  beggar  had  the  nerve  to  ask  me  two 
thousand  dollars  for  her.  Just  a  hold-up.  He 
knew  she  wasn't  worth  it,  and  so  did  I — and  he 
didn't  need  the  money,  either.  Lucy,  there,  isn't 
fast.  She  can  go  in  three  minutes  in  a  light  run- 
about. She—" 

"See  what  a  distinct  shadow  that  tree  tKrows  on 
the  pavement!"  cried  the  widow.  She  had  been 
riding  with  owners  of  horses  frequently,  and 
in  her  greater  experience  knew  that  they  would 
talk  of  nothing  but  their  animals  unless  headed  off 
in  the  most  adroit  and  determined  manner.  That 
the  Magnate  was  a  Horse  man  she  knew  from  the 
fact  that  he  saluted  the  one  or  two  men  whom  they 
passed  under  the  ligHtsa  driving  teams.  There  is  a 


178      THE  LONG  STRAIGHT  ROAD! 

sort  of  masonry  existing  among  the  owners  of  good 
horses  in  a  great  city. 

"Yes,  that's  the  electric  light,"  observed  Murchi- 
son.  "Do  you  like  electricity  for  illuminating  pur- 
poses, Mrs.  Chapin?" 

"We  use  gas,"  replied  Nellie.  "Electricity  is  not 
good  for  the  complexion,  they  say.  Then,  too,  it's 
fatal  to  us  ladies  who  are  getting  old.  It  brings  out 
the  slightest  wrinkle." 

"I  should  think  you'd  have  it  put  in  tKen,  to  show 
that  you  haven't  any." 

"I  just  knew  Mrs.  Chapin  was  fishing  for  a  com- 
pliment," laughed  the  widow,  who  had  a  wrinkle 
or  two  in  tKe  corners  of  her  eyes. 

"Our  friend,  Mr.  Crissey,"  said  Nellie,  racking 
her  brain  to  think  of  some  prosperous  acquaintance 
who  must  be  in  the  Magnate's  set,  "will  not  use 
electricity  to  study  by.  He  is  having  gas  put  into 
his  new  house,  as  he  told  my  husband  and  myself 
when  we  were  dining  there  the  other  evening.  He 
thinks  electricity  ruins  the  eyes." 

"Are  you  intimate  with  the  Crisseys?"  asked 
Murchison. 

"Oh,  very.  My  husband  and  he  were  school-boys 
together." 

"Shall  you  come  and  hear  Mr.  Crissey's  talk  be- 
fore the  club?"  asked  the  widow.  "It's  sure  to  be. 


ABOUT   MEN   AND   HORSES        179 

something  grand.  He's  a  bright,  brainy  man — a 
rising  man." 

"And  so  handsome!"  cried  Nellie. 

"There!  now  the  cat's  out  of  the  bag,"  said  the 
Magnate.  "You  ladies  are  all  alike.  Let  a  man 
be  handsome,  and  he's  bright,  brainy,  and  every- 
thing else,  in  your  eyes." 

"But  you're  coming  to  hear  him,  aren't  you?" 
persisted  th'e  widow,  making  sweet  eyes  at  Murchi- 
son. 

"Will  you  be  there?"  he  asked  earnestly,  leaning 
close  to  Nellie. 

"Of  course.  I  have  to  be  there.  I  am  one  of  the 
officers  of  th'e  club,"  she  added  proudly. 

"Then  you  may  count  on  me,  though'  I'll  not 
promise  to  listen  to  Crissey.  He  doesn't  interest  me 
particularly.  He  has  no  standing  among  successful 
men — men  of  real  brain." 

Mrs.  Kimball-Smith  bit  her  lip  with  vexation. 
She  thought  Murchison's  spite  against  Crissey  due 
to  a  spasm  of  jealousy. 

"Now  we're  in  tKe  park,"  she  cried,  with  added 
animation  to  cover  her  annoyance.  "You  should 
have  brought  Mrs.  Hudson  along  to  point  out  the 
poetic  beauties  to  us." 

"Don't  you  tKink  she  has  soul?"  asked  Nellie. 

"Yes/'  replied  the  Magnate,  "certainly.    All  hu- 


180      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

man  beings  have  souls.  I  believe  that  horses  have 
souls.  There's  that  off  mare  of  mine  now — " 

"But  Mrs.  Hudson  is  so  painfully  thin!"  ex- 
claimed the  widow,  guarding  in  tierce,  and  think- 
ing at  the  same  time  of  her  own  billowy  figure. 

"All  soul  and  bones !"  added  Nellie,  with  her  ex- 
plosive titter. 

The  Magnate  leaned  back  in  his  carriage  and 
laughed  heartily,  spontaneously . 

"All  soul  and  bones !"  he  repeated.  "That's  neat- 
ly put !  That  expresses  it  exactly !  You  couldn't 
describe  her  better  if  you  were  to  talk  an  hour." 
Nellie  was  delighted  at  the  success  of  her  bon-mot. 

"I'm  glad  that  you  did  not  bring  her  along,"  she 
continued,  "because  poets  are  bad  company.  They 
are  always  offering  to  present  you  with  their  books, 
and  then  they  call  around  the  next  day  and  pick 
them  up  to  see  if  you  have  cut  the  leaves  or  not." 

"And  of  course  you've  always  forgotten  to  do 
it,"  laughed  the  Magnate. 

"Oh,  of  course!" 

Poor  Mrs.  Kimball-Smith  was  in  despair  at  this 
outburst  of  brilliancy  on  Nellie's  part.  "Mrs.  Hud- 
son seemed  thinner  to-night  than  when  I  last  saw 
her,"  she  observed,  anxious  to  say  something  of  in- 
terest. 

"She  must  have  dropped  a  bone,"  tittered  Nellie, 


ABOUT   MEN   AND   HORSES        181 

secretly  grateful  for  the  unexpected  opening. 
Murchison  chuckled  with  glee,  and  the  widow  re- 
gretted that  she  had  not  bitten  out  her  tongue  before 
making  the  fruitful  remark. 

She  ached  to  get  in  a  dig  at  Nellie,  and  two  or 
three  sly,  poisonous  things  entered  her  brain,  but 
she  was  afraid  of  this  bright  woman  who  was  in 
such  form  to-night. 

They  were  well  into  the  park  now.  It  was  mid- 
October,  one  of  those  glorious  nights  of  fall  that 
compensate  for  all  the  villainies  of  the  climate. 
The  air  had  that  warming  and  at  the  same  time 
biting  tang  that  one  tastes  in  dry  wine.  It  is 
a  trite  figure,  but  none  other  is  so  good;  for  the 
air  exhilarated  without  intoxicating,  as  the  best  wine 
should  do.  There  was  in  it,  moreover,  a  lingering 
regret,  a  memory  and  a  sigh  of  departed  summer, 
as  wine  from  a  far  country  will  evoke  dreams  of 
the  castled  Rhine,  visions  of  sunny  Spain,  or  the 
faint  laughter  of  brown-skinned,  ragged  children 
among  the  hills  of  Sicily. 

The  ghost  of  summer  seemed  to  be  wandering 
in  the  dim  moonlight,  among  the  trees  of  the  park, 
grieving  over  her  dead  flowers.  The  moon  shone 
whitely  on  the  mottled  trunks  of  the  birches,  and 
the  tall  trees  were  silhouetted  cleanly  upon  the  grass 
as  though  worked  in  black  on  some  ancient  tapes- 


i82      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

try.  The  white  electric  lights  gleamed  numerously, 
making  little  spheres  of  incongruous  noonday 
among  sylvan  foliage.  But  for  their  garishness 
one  could  have  thought  them  Japanese  lanterns 
hanging  in  a  festal  garden  whose  revelers  had  fled. 

"Drive  down  by  the  Lake,  Tom,"  commanded  the 
Magnate.  "I  want  to  get  on  to  the  race  track 
there,  so  that  you  can  speed  'em  up  a  bit.  They 
step  well  together,"  he  explained  to  the  ladies. 
"The  off  mare  is  a  little  too  fast  for  the  other,  but 
they  have  learned  each  other's  gait.  Tom,  here, 
is  the  best  driver  I've  ever  had.  He  can  get  four 
minutes  out  of  them,  with*  us  all  in  the  carriage. 
Before  I  bought  Lucy  of  Bob  McCormick — do  you 
know  Bob?  Oh,  that's  so,  you  said  you  didn't. 
Before  I  bought  Lucy — " 

"We  shall  see  the  moonlight  on  the  Lake !"  cried 
the  widow.  "I  just  dote  on  moonlight  when  it 
falls  on  water,  like  the  ocean  or  the  lake." 

"Yes,"  assented  Murchison.  "You  can  see  more 
of  it  than  when  it  falls  on  the  land." 

He  was  right,  for  miles  of  the  restless  water  were 
glorified  by  a  long  trail  of  melted  silver.  Had  Mr. 
Roth,  Muchison's  poor  employee,  been  present,  He 
would  have  sKut  his  eyes,  and  would  have  imagined 
himself  sailing  away  toward  the  moon  on  that  trail 
in  a  tiny  shallop,  with  a  plump  little  pock-marked 


ABOUT   MEN   AND.   HORSES        183 

woman  by  his  side.  But  she  would  not  have  been 
pock-marked  to  him;  her  face  would  have  been 
radiant  with  the  beauty  of  a  Greek  nymph,  and  he 
would  have  stepped  ashore  on  the  moon  with  her, 
hand  in  hand.  And  the  light  on  their  faces  and  in 
their  eyes — 

"Here's  the  race-track,  Tom !"  said  the  Magnate. 
"Now  see  what  you  can  do  with  'em.  Lucy  there 
is  too  fat,"  he  apologized  to  the  ladies.  A  moment 
later  Nellie  was  holding  her  breath  in  fear,  and  the 
divine  panorama  of  the  night  was  whizzing  by  her 
at  the  thoughtless  rate  of  a  mile  in  four  minutes. 

"Tom,"  said  Mr.  Murchison,  as  soon  as  they  had 
slowed  down,  "don't  that  new  mare  forge  a  little?" 

"I  thought  I  heard  her  myself,  sir,"  replied  the 
coachman,  looking  back. 

"If  you  think  there's  any  danger  of  her  quarter- 
ing, you'd  better  put  her  in  boots — though  I  hate 
'em." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  replied  Tom. 

The  Magnate  descended  at  Nellie's  house,  helped 
her  out,  and  escorted  her  to  the  door, 

"I  hope  to  see  you  often,"  Ke  said  in  his  caressing 
voice,  holding  her  hand.  "We  are  near  neighbors, 
you  know.  Any  time  that  you  want  to  take  a  ride, 
you  have  only  to  let  me  know.  By  the  way" — here 
he  resorted  to  the  cheap  expedient  of  the  rich  Lotha- 


i84      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

rio — "your  husband  is  welcome  to  use  one  of  my 
saddle  horses  whenever  he  feels  like  it.  They  need 
exercise,  and  there's  nothing  so  healthy  for  a  man 
of  sedentary  habits  as  riding." 

When  Nellie  entered  her  flat  she  found  a  full  light 
burning,  and  Harry  asleep  under  it,  with  the  sport- 
ing extra  of  a  sensational  paper  on  his  lap.  He 
had  been  growing  bald  rapidly  within  the  last  few 
months,  and  the  tuft  of  thin  hair  standing  on 
his  shiny  forehead  looked  comical  to  her.  He  was 
tired,  and  his  mouth  had  dropped  open.  She  shook 
him,  and  he  awoke  with  a  start. 

"Our  gas  bill  was  five  dollars  last  month,"  she 
said.  "Why  don't  you  turn  it  off  when  you  are 
going  to  sleep?" 

"Don't  come  home  witK  a  groucH  on,  Nell,"  he 
pleaded.  "It's  bad  enough  to  leave  a  fellow  alone 
all  evening,  without  picking  him  up  for  something 
the  minute  you  set  foot  in  the  door." 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE    CORRECT    MAN 

Some  time  before  this,  the  great  firm  of  corpora- 
tion lawyers,  Wilson  and  Moore,  called  in  Edward 
Crissey  to  help  them  in  a  damage  suit  brought 
by  the  city  against  one  of  the  many  railroads 
which  concenter  in  it  like  spokes  in  the  hub  of 
a  mighty  wheel.  They  needed  the  most  con- 
vincing pleader  they  could  find  to  talk  before  a 
jury,  and  perhaps  before  the  Supreme  Bench.  They 
were  agreeably  surprised  to  learn  that  Edward 
Crissey  not  only  could  state  an  argument  in  a  dig- 
nified, clear  and  most  convincing  manner,  but  that 
he  was  a  sound  lawyer  and  invaluable  in  consulta- 
tion. Wilson,  the  senior  member  of  the  firm,  took 
a  great  liking  to  him  personally,  and  told  his  wife, 
who  was  a  society  leader — by  some  considered  the 
leader — that  he  thought  "Crissey  would  do." 

"Almost  any  man  will  do,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilson, 
a  mite  of  a  woman,  who  managed  to  be  a  "queen 
of  society"  and  mother  a  big  girl  and  two  or  three 
185 


186      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

boys  successfully  at  the  same  time;  "almost  any 
man  will  do  in  American  society  who  doesn't  eat 
with  his  knife  and  wear  a  soft  shirt  at  an  evening 
reception.  But  what  about  his  wife?  We  can  ex- 
cuse eccentricities  of  attire  in  a  talented  man,  but 
not  even  genius  makes  them  acceptable  in  a  woman. 
These  self-made  men  are  apt  to  have  very  rudi- 
mentary wives.  Besides,  it's  safer  to  invite  a  doubt- 
ful man  than  his  wife.  The  man  will  be  so  busy 
continuing  the  making  process  that  one  is  not  likely 
to  see  much  more  of  him ;  but  the  woman,  if  given 
the  least  encouragement,  is  sure  to  hatch"  out  a 
society  bee  and  become  a  source  of  embarrassment." 

Mr.  Wilson  was  a  short,  stoutish  man,  with  keen 
gray  eyes,  light  hair,  and  a  light  red  mustache. 
He  was  near-sighted  and  wore  a  gold  'pince-nez. 
He  was  very  deaf,  and,  as  is  often  the  case,  his  voice 
was  as  low  and  soft  as  a  woman's.  He  belonged  to 
several  fashionable  clubs,  and  was  retained  at  prince- 
ly salaries  by  half  a  dozen  great  corporations.  The 
Wilsons  lived  in  a  simple,  squarely-built  palace  on 
State  Street,  with'  a  big  packing  case  of  a  ball  room, 
an  architectural  afterthought,  out  behind. 

Mr.  Wilson  laughed.  "Very  well,  my  dear;  if 
you  make  so  much  of  it,  we  won't  ask  him.  To  tell 
you  the  truth,  I  hadn't  thought  of  the  wife.  I  have 
never  seen  Her,  and  I  don't  suppose  anybody  else 


THE   CORRECT    MAN  187 

ever  has.  Crissey's  a  good  fellow,  though,  of  ster- 
ling merit,  and  is  going  to  be  heard  from  some  day. 
He's  a  rising  man.  I'll  invite  him  to  the  Union 
League  to  lunch  and  let  it  go  at  that." 

"No,"  replied  Mrs.  Wilson,  who,  alone  of  mortals, 
could  make  the  lawyer  hear  without  shouting  at  him. 
"You  have  excited  my  curiosity.  He  must  indeed 
be  a  prodigy,  you  are  so  seldom  enthusiastic  over 
anybody.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  invite  the 
Crisseys  to  Ethel's  coming  out,  and  I  can  tell  with 
one  glance  whether  the  wife  will  do  or  not.  It  will 
be  a  grand  crush,  and  they  will  scarcely  be  noticed. 
I  have  never  called  on  the  woman,  but  she  probably 
doesn't  know  the  difference." 

Mr.  Wilson  kissed  his  little  wife  as  a  sign  that 
he  understood  the  magnitude  of  her  sacrifice.  To 
tell  the  truth,  he  was  quite  anxious  to  make  friends 
with  Crissey,  in  whose  abilities  he  had  great  con- 
fidence, and  whom  he  believed  to  be  a  man  worth 
cultivating.  One  of  his  duties  as  attorney  for 
large  corporations  was  to  "get  on  his  staff"  men  of 
influence,  either  present  or  prospective. 

Dorothy  Crissey  was  somewhat  mystified  sev- 
eral days  later  by  the  receipt  of  a  letter  in  a  large 
square  envelope,  informing  her  and  her  husband 
that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wilson  would  be  pleased  to  see 
them  at  the  presentation  of  their  daughter  Ethel  to 


188      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

the  social  world.  Dorothy  knew,  of  course,  that 
her  husband  had  been  associated  with  Wilson  and 
Moore  in  an  important  case,  but  this  fact  did  not 
greatly  impress  her,  as  she  took  for  granted  that  her 
husband  was  the  most  learned  and  eloquent  lawyer 
in  the  country.  Had  he  been  called  into  hurried 
consultation  by  the  secretary  of  state  or  the  presi- 
dent, she  would  simply  have  wondered  why  they 
had  not  asked  his  advice  before.  That  Mrs.  Wil- 
son should  invite  her  to  her  house  seemed  a  more 
portentous  matter.  It  was  the  first  time  that  the 
rays  of  her  husband's  rising  greatness  had  caused 
her  to  shine  with  reflected  light. 

"I  have  nothing  to  wear,"  she  objected,  taking 
immediate  refuge  in  woman's  immemorial  excuse — 
the  excuse  that  originated  with  Eve. 

"Nothing  to  wear !"  exclaimed  Edward.  "There's 
— there's  your  black  silk." 

"That's  nice,  I  know,  but  it  wouldn't  be  suitable 
for  such  an  occasion." 

"Well,  there's  that  brand  new  dress  you  bought 
the  other  day  to  go  to  church  in." 

"Oh,  that's  only  a  cloth  street  dress.  Besides,  I 
haven't  any  wrap  that  would  do.  Why,  Edward, 
this  is  the  most  fashionable  house  in  town.  I 
wouldn't  go  there  for  the  world  and  have  you 
ashamed  of  me.  I — " 


THE   CORRECT   MAN  189 

"Ashamed  of  you  ?  Ashamed  of  my  wife  ?  What 
nonsense !" 

"Besides,  they  only  want  you,  any  way." 

"Why,  the  invitation  says  for  both  of  us." 

"I  know  it  does ;  but  neither  of  them  ever  saw 
me,  and  Mr.  Wilson  is  acquainted  with  you.  No; 
you  go,  and  come  back  and  tell  me  all  about  it.  I'll 
go  next  time." 

And  there  she  stuck.  Had  it  been  a  question  of 
advancing  her  husband's  interests  in  any  way,  she 
would  have  gone  through  fire.  But  she  honestly 
believed  that  her  husband  was  the  lion  whom  they 
wanted,  and  she  did  not  wish  to  cause  him  the  ex- 
pense of  a  new  gown  for  a  single  occasion.  She  in- 
sisted, however,  on  his  going ;  and  she  helped  him  to 
dress  with  great  solicitude  when  the  afternoon  ar- 
rived. 

"You  must  wear  a  tail-coat,  Edward,"  she  said. 
"Your  black  diagonal  cutaway  and  your  silk  hat 
will  be  just  the  thing.  And  you  must  wear  your 
gloves,  also.  These  black  gloves  will  do.  Black 
gloves  are  always  dressy,  and,  besides,  they  just 
match  your  coat." 

To  prevent  his  looking  too  funereal,  she  brought 
out  a  new  pair  of  trousers,  with  fine  white  and 
black  stripes,  which  he  had  recently  ordered  at  a 
fashionable  tailor's,  and  which  fitted  him  so  per- 


190      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

fectly  that  th'ey  were  the  pride  of  her  heart.  The 
reflection  that  the  occasion  was  a  festive  one  in- 
duced her  to  produce  one  of  the  white  string  ties 
which  she  had  bought  for  him  to  wear  with  his 
dress  suit. 

"Pin  it  down  in  the  back,  Dolly,"  said  he,  as  she 
was  tying  it  on ;  "there's  nothing  in  the  world  like 
one  of  these  starched  white  ties  to  climb  up  to  the 
top  of  a  man's  collar.  And  the  bow  slips  around 
under  your  ear,  too,  if  the  thing  isn't  fairly  spiked 
down." 

Dorothy  drove  the  pin  through  the  stiff  collar 
with  the  end  of  her  thumb,  and  then  spent  some 
time  pulling  at  her  husband's  tie,  picking  bits 
of  lint  from  his  coat,  and  giving  him  a  poke  here 
and  there.  She  followed  him  to  the  door,  calling: 
"Be  sure  to  stop  somewhere  and  get  your  boots 
blacked,  dear;  and  don't  forget  to  put  on  your 
gloves  before  you  go  into  the  house." 

"Don't  beget  it,  papa,"  echoed  little  Dorothy,  now 
four  years  of  age. 

"Your  papa'll  be  the  handsomest  man  there," 
cried  the  proud  wife,  catching  Her  baby  to  her 
breast,  and  hugging  her  because  she  was  half  Ed- 
ward's, "and  the  smartest,  too." 

A  few  moments  later  Jim  came  in. 

"I  met  the  governor  in  his  glad  rags,"  said  he. 


THE   CORRECT    MAN  191 

"Whew,  wasn't  he  swell !  Looked  like  an  under- 
taker." 

"James,"  said  Mrs.  Crissey,  "you  will  oblige  me 
by  not  speaking  so  flippantly  of  your  father.  A 
boy  who  has  such  a  father  should  be  proud  of  him 
every  moment  of  his  life  and  should  never  speak 
of  him  disrespectfully." 

TKere  was  a  grave,  quiet  look  in  the  gray  eyes, 
and  a  something  in  the  voice,  lower  and  more  dis- 
tinct than  usual,  which  Jim  understood. 

"I  didn't  mean  no  disrespect,  mother,"  he  replied 
apologetically.  "I  only  meant  he  was  all  dressed 
up." 

"But  there  is  disrespect  in  comparing  your  father 
with  a  man  of  any  occupation  inferior  to  his  own. 
Your  father  couldn't  look  like  an  undertaker.  To 
my  mind,"  she  continued  more  softly,  "he  looked 
more  like  a  senator  or— or — or  something  of  that 
sort.  Always  remember  you  are  your  father's  son, 
James." 

"Gee!"  grumbled  the  boy  as  hie  left  the  room, 
"mother's  touchy  about  father.  She  bristles  up 
like  a  cat  if  you  don't  speak  about  him  just  so.  An* 
I  bet  I  can  lick  'im  myself  when  I  get  two  years 
older."  Crooking  his  rigHt  arm,  he  felt  of  his 
muscle. 

FaitRful  fo  his  wife's  advice,  Mr.  Crissey  had  his 


192      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

boots  blacked  by  a  negro  who  presided  over  a  chair 
on  the  sidewalk ;  and  he  pulled  on  his  black  gloves 
just  before  entering  the  Wilson  residence.  He  rang 
the  bell,  and  the  butler  said  to  him : 

"Right-hand  room,  sir,  at  the  top  of  the  stairs." 
There  were  numerous  carriages  in  the  street  be- 
fore the  door,  and  he  met  several  very  young  men 
whom  he  did  not  know  coming  down  the  wide 
stairs.  He  noticed,  with  one  shrewd  glance,  that 
they  were  dressed  so  exactly  alike  that  they  seemed 
to  be  in  uniform,  and  that  they  all  had  a  groomed 
and  ironed  air  about  them  as  though  each  suit  had 
come  directly  from  the  hands  of  the  same  fashion- 
able tailor. 

The  door  opened  again  before  he  reached  the 
top  landing,  and  the  men  who  came  in  spoke  fa- 
miliarly to  the  butler.  As  he  glanced  down  at  the 
drawing-room  over  the  balustrade,  he  saw  that  it 
was  packed  with  women.  A  faint  smell  of  roses 
floated  up  to  his  nostrils.  A  neat  maid  wearing  a 
cap  pointed  to  the  door  of  a  room,  and  he  entered. 
A  young  man  stood  before  a  mirror  arranging  his 
hair,  and  two  others,  smoking  cigarettes,  were 
standing  near  a  window,  talking  in  a  low  tone. 
These  were  dressed  exactly  like  the  others  whom  he 
had  met  on  the  stairs.  All  were  clean-shaven,  and  he 
noticed  that  the  faces  of  three  out  of  the  five  were 


THE   CORRECT   MAN  193 

fat  and  florid.  He  did  not  know  any  of  the  men 
in  the  room. 

Laying  his  coat  and  cane  on  the  bed  and  setting 
his  hat  atop,  he  descended.  Standing  on  tiptoe, 
he  looked  over  the  garden  of  heads,  but  recognized 
no  one.  Feeling  conspicuous  there  in  the  hall,  he 
plunged  into  the  throng,  and  was,  after  a  few  mo- 
ments, carried  into  the  middle  of  the  room  much  as 
a  body  frozen  in  a  glacier  is  moved  onward.  He 
received  a  mixed  impression  of  women,  rich  toilets, 
delicate  perfumes,  snatches  of  conversation  concern- 
ing past  and  prospective  social  events,  and  roses — 
oceans  of  flowers.  Then  he  slowly  and  gently  but 
firmly  wedged  his  way  out  again. 

Standing  on  tiptoe  once  more,  he  looked  about 
for  Wilson,  but  could  see  him  nowhere.  Then  he 
observed  that  there  was  a  sort  of  Gulf  Stream  in 
this  sea  of  people  which  was  steadily  flowing  to- 
ward a  woman  and  a  girl  standing  together  at  one 
end  of  the  great  drawing-room. 

The  people  passed  in  single  file  before  this  cou- 
ple; they  shook  hands  with  the  elder  woman  first, 
were  introduced  to  the  younger,  spoke  a  few  words, 
and  passed  on.  He  understood,  and  floated  into  the 
edge  of  the  Gulf  Stream.  After  about  ten  minutes 
he  arrived  and  found  himself  before  a  richly  dressed 
Koman  of  diminutive  stature^  who  reminded  him 


i94      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

of  a  picture  he  had  seen  in  some  history  of  Marie 
Louise.  She  was  in  fact  attired  in  an  empire  gown, 
a  fashion  whicK  she  much  affected.  Two  or  three 
women  pressed  against  him  from  behind,  and  he 
fancied  he  felt  sharp  knuckles  thrust  against  his 
back.  The  miniature  Marie  Louise  looked  up  at 
him  sweetly  and  politely  expectant. 

"I  am  Mr.  Crissey,  Edward  Crissey,"  he  ex- 
plained. 

"We  are  delighted  to  see  you  here,  Mr.  Crissey. 
I  have  heard  my  husband  say  so  many  nice  things 
about  you.  You  and  he  seem  to  have  become  great 
friends,"  and  she  extended  a  little  hand. 

Mr.  Crissey  raised  his  hand  and  gave  one  tug  at 
a  finger  of  his  glove.  Then  he  remembered  his 
wife's  parting  injunction  to  keep  his  gloves  on,  and 
he  seized  the  little  hand  and  gave  it  an  honest  shake. 

"Your  husband,  Madam,  is  a  man  whose  abilities 
and  character  I  greatly  admire.  I  am  delighted  to 
learn  from  your  lips  that  the  sentiment  is — ah — 
somewhat  mutual." 

"Oh,  it  is,  I  assure  you.  Is  Mrs.  Crissey  with 
you  ?" 

"No,  Madam,  I  regret  to  say  that  she  is  not.  The 
fact  is—" 

"Oh,  what  a  disappointment !  I  did  so  want  her 
to  see  the  floral  decorations.  Mr.  Crissey,  this  is 


THE   CORRECT   MAN  195 

my  daughter,  Ethel.  Ethel,  this  is  the  eloquent  gen- 
tleman of  whom  you  have  heard  your  father  speak 
so  often." 

Crissey  also  shook  hands  with  the  daughter,  a 
tall  young  woman  in  an  elaborate  gown,  whose 
pretty  cheeks  were  flushed  with  excitement. 

"I  congratulate  you,  Miss  Wilson,  on  this  auspi- 
cious occasion,"  he  began. 

His  voice  trembled  a  trifle,  because  lie  was  a  true 
orator,  and  his  periods  always  bred  emotion.  Miss 
Wilson,  though  instantly  alive  to  the  fact  that  some- 
thing gauche  was  happening,  yet  felt  strangely 
swayed  by  the  sympathetic  and  earnest  timbre  in 
the  man's  voice.  The  dark  eyes  looked  seriously 
and  gravely  into  hers,  and  the  florid  face  with  its 
crown  of  white  hair  was  distinguished,  if  not  ex- 
actly Handsome.  Edward  Crissey  was  never 
ridiculous,  not  even  when  swimming  in  strange 
waters. 

"May  these  flowers,"  he  continued,  "which  I  see 
here  in  such  lavish  profusion — "  but  the  current  of 
the  Gulf  Stream  was  too  strong  for  him. 

He  was  swept  onward  and  the  remainder  of  his 
pretty  speech  was  addressed  to  a  broad  feminine 
back  and  a  topknot  of  white  feminine  hair. 

"Be  typical  of  the  roses  of  love  and  happiness 
that  will  strew  the  path  of  your  whole  life." 


196      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

Mr.  Crissey  floated  to  the  wall,  then  along  that 
boundary  and  out  into  another  large  room  that  was 
less  crowded.  Here  he  observed  a  sideboard,  load- 
ed with  good  things  and  guarded  by  several  tall 
sentinels  in  evening  dress.  Groups  of  guests  were 
chatting  here,  and  occasionally  some  of  the  young 
men  would  look  anxiously  at  the  viands  and  decan- 
ters, but  nobody  made  a  move  to  partake  of  any- 
thing. Crissey  did  not  dream  of  taking  a  sandwich 
or  of  asking  one  of  the  sublime  sentinels  for  a  drink. 
He  did  not  know  that  in  "high"  society  in  the  forma- 
tive state,  "high"  society  that  has  almost  arrived, 
people  are  not  yet  at  perfect  ease.  There  is  still 
that  lingering  and  ever-present  dread  of  doing 
something  not  correct,  something  that  would  not  be 
done,  for  instance,  in  a  swell  London  drawing- 
room.  Nobody  dares  to  take  the  initiative.  Men 
and  women  do  not  feel  quite  at  home  in  each  other's 
houses,  no  matter  how  magnificent,  when  those 
houses  are  brand  new.  Correct  costumes,  correct 
invitation  cards,  correct  hours  for  dining  and  giving 
functions,  are  the  first  steps  up  a  ladder  that  it 
takes  centuries  to  climb.  Even  servants  can  be  im- 
ported. Ease,  assurance,  elegant  bonhomie,  can  be 
neither  bought  nor  brought  from  over  seas.  They 
are  the  finishing  touches  to  "society." 

Nobody  spoke  to  Crissey  in  this  room,  but  he  saw 


THE   CORRECT    MAN  197 

something  at  a  distance  that  looked  friendly.  His 
eyes  wandered  to  the  library,  where  were  long  rows 
of  large  volumes,  whose  elegant  bindings  shone 
behind  glass  doors.  He  approached,  and  soon  felt 
as  though  all  his  old  friends  had  grown  suddenly 
rich,  tricked  themselves  out  in  purple  and  fine  linen 
and  turned  their  backs  on  him.  What  struck  him 
most  forcibly  was  the  numerical  size  of  the  editions. 
Authors  who  were  familiar  to  him  in  one  volume, 
or  at  the  most  in  three  or  four,  were  here  swollen 
into  twelve,  fifteen  or  twenty  portentous  tomes. 

"So  does  wealth  make  some  human  beings  swell," 
reflected  Crissey,  "without  adding  anything  to  their 
intrinsic  worth." 

He  stood  for  some  time  looking  up  at  the  shelves, 
his  hands,  still  covered  with  the  black  gloves,  thrust 
into  his  trousers'  pockets.  Then  he  went  upstairs, 
took  his  tall  hat,  cane,  and  stick,  and  left  the  house. 
The  butler  opened  the  front  door  for  him  and  bowed 
solemnly  as  he  passed  out.  He  had  gone  up  the 
street  about  a  block,  wrestling  into  his  overcoat  as 
he  walked,  when  he  was  hailed  by  Wilson,  just 
coming  home  in  a  hired  cab. 

"Hello !"  cried  that  successful  man ;  "been  up  to 
my  house?" 

"I  am  just  coming  from  there,"  replied  Crissey. 
"I  have  paid  my  respects  to  your  charming  daugh- 


i98      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

ter  and  no  less  charming  wife  and  am  now  on  my 
way  home." 

"Did  they  treat  you  all  right  up  there?" 

"Beautifully.  There  was  such  a  crowd,  of 
course,  that  I  had  but  a  moment  to  speak  to  your 
wife  and  daughter.  I  congratulate  you  on  your 
beautiful  home  and — and — charming  family."  He 
remembered  that  he  had  used  the  word  charming 
but  a  moment  before,  but  could  think  of  no 
synonym. 

"I'm  sorry  you  didn't  wait  for  me,"  said  Wilson 
cordially.  "Detained  by  important  business. 
Won't  you  come  back  now  ?" 

"No,  no,  thank  you.  I  am  preparing  a  brief,  and 
I'm  behind  with  it  now.  I  must  burn  midnight  oil 
to-night.  By  the  way,  I  did  not  have  the  time  to 
express  as  I  should  have  liked  my  congratulations 
to  your  wife  and  my  good  wishes  to  your  daughter. 
Will  you  convey  to  them  my  sentiments  in  fitting 
words  ?" 

Mr.  Wilson  assured  Crissey  on  this  point,  and  the 
latter  again  went  on  his  way.  But  just  as  he  was 
boarding  a  West  Side  car  he  remembered  that  he 
had  left  some  important  papers  at  his  office,  and  he 
went  there  in  search  of  them.  A  letter  was  sticking 
in  the  slot  of  his  roll-top  desk.  He  opened  it 
mechanically,  but  an  exultant  flush  spread  over  his 


THE   CORRECT   MAN  199 

cheeks  before  he  had  read  it  half  through.  It  was 
an  offer  from  a  great  railroad  company  to  retain 
him  as  permanent  counsel  at  a  salary  of  ten  thou- 
sand dollars  a  year.  This  would  not  interfere  with 
his  general  practice,  and  he  was  to  be  paid  his  usual 
fees  when  actually  engaged  upon  cases  for  the  com- 
pany. 

"I  don't  see  why  I  can  not  accept  this,"  He  re- 
flected. 

He  went  home  in  a  cab,  and  arrived  in  time  for 
supper.  His  wife  met  him  at  the  door  and  helped 
him  off  with  his  coat. 

"You  look  fine,  Edward !"  she  said,  tightening  the 
knot  of  his  white  tie,  which  had  slipped  loose. 
"There  are  some  men  wKo  were  just  made  to  wear 
good  clothes  and  you  are  one  of  them.  If  I  had 
my  way,  you'd  go  down  to  the  office  every  day  just 
like  this." 

"There,  there!"  he  replied,  patting  her  cheek, 
"don't  try  to  make  a  dude  of  me.  By  the  way,  I 
didn't  seem  to  be  exactly  in  style  to-day,  after  all." 

"Not  in  style,  Edward  ?  I  can't  see  how  anybody 
could  be  dressed  any  better  than  you  are  at  the 
present  moment." 

"Nevertheless,  all  the  men  seemed  to  be  wearing 
prince-alberts.  It  may  have  been  a  fancy  of  mine, 
but  I  thought  they  were  all  dressed  alike,  and  I 


200      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

was  different.  I  felt,  too,  as  though  Mrs.  Wilson  cast 
a  queer  glance  at  me  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye. 
Not  that  it  makes  the  least  difference  in  the  world — • 
and  anyway,  it  was  probably  imagination.  What 
have  you  for  supper?  This  cool  weather  makes 
me  as  hungry  as  a  bear." 

"Cast  a  queer  look  at  you?"  cried  Mrs.  Crissey. 
"You  certainly  are  mistaken.  She  was  glad  enough 
to  get  you  into  her  house.  If  I  thought  you  were 
not  mistaken,  you  should  never  darken  her  doors 
again,  even  though  she  should  come  to  me  on  bend- 
ed knees !"  Dolly  threw  her  head  back  and  her 
gray  eyes  blazed. 

"Where's  Jim?"  asked  Mr.  Crissey,  casting  his 
eye  down  the  table  and  hurriedly  calling  a  mental 
roll. 

"Oh,  he'll  be  here  in  a  moment.  Since  you  are 
hungry,  we  won't  wait  for  Jim.  You  can  trust  to 
a  boy's  appetite  to  tell  him  pretty  nearly  when  it's 
supper  time.  Agnes  and  I  went  over  to-day  to  look 
at  the  new  house,"  she  added,  as  though  the  news 
had  been  on  her  mind. 

"It's  perfectly  elegant.  It's  a  home!"  declared 
Aggie,  tucking  her  napkin  into  her  neck. 

"No,  not  that  way,  not  that  way !"  shrieked  four- 
year-old  Dolly,  as  Lena  attempted  to  tie  her  bib  on. 


THE   CORRECT   MAN  201 

"Dorothy,"  said  the  mother,  "don't  start  that  up 
again.  If  you  don't  let  Lena  tie  your  bib  on,  you 
can't  have  any  currant  jelly." 

This  threat,  which  the  child  knew  was  no-  idle 
one,  had  the  desired  quieting  effect,  as  Mrs.  Cris- 
sey  never  made  idle  or  extravagant  threats  to  her 
children. 

"I  ain't  littler'n  Aggie,"  grumbled  Dolly,  who 
yearned  with  all  her  small  heart  to  wear  a  big-folk's 
napkin  and  tuck  it  about  her  own  neck.  "I'm  just 
ezzackelly  as  big  as  she  is." 

Her  mother  put  her  arm  around  the  child.  "Not 
quite  as  big,  darling.  But  ytfu  soon  will  be." 

"To-morrow  ?"  asked  Dorothy. 

"How  are  they  getting  on  with  the  house?"  in- 
quired Edward.  "Shall  we  be  able  to  get  into  it  by 
the  first  of  May?" 

"Oh,  they'll  have  it  done  long  before  that.  It's  a 
beautiful  house.  Sometimes  I'm  afraid  it's  too 
fine  for  us.  Do  you  think  we  shall  be  able  to  keep 
up  the  expenses?"  Mrs.  Crissey  came  of  New 
England  ancestry. 

"Of  course,"  she  added,  "I  can  help  Lena,  and  I 
can  get  along  with  the  one  girl  there  as  well  as 
here." 

"I'm  sometimes  sorry,"  said  Crissey,  fumbling  in 


202      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

his  pocket  for  a  letter,  "that  I  did  not  buy  a  lot  on 
the  Lake  Shore  Drive.  That's  the  fashionable  part 
of  the  city.  Here,  Aggie,  give  this  letter  to  mama." 

There  were  tears  in  Dolly's  eyes,  as  she  finished 
reading  and  laid  the  missive  down  by  her  plate. 

"I  don't  understand  how  they  got  along  without 
you  so  long,"  she  laughed,  a  little  hysterically. 
"Ten  thousand  a  year!"  It  seemed  to  her  the  in- 
come of  a  prince.  It  was  fabulous.  And  yet,  and 
yet — she  must  not  allow  herself  to  be  betrayed  into 
extravagance.  She  would  get  along  with  Lena  even 
in  the  new  house  and  with  the  large  income. 

The  girl  came  and  whispered  something  in  Mrs. 
Crissey's  ear.  The  mother  rose  and  hastened  into 
the  kitchen,  where  she  found  Jim  in  a  deplorable 
state.  One  eye  was  black  and  swollen,  his  clothing 
was  torn,  his  nose  was  red;  there  was  a  stain  of 
dried  blood  on  his  shirt  bosom,  and  an  ugly-looking 
scratch  over  his  right  eye. 

"James,  you've  been  fighting  again !"  gasped  Mrs. 
Crissey,  sinking  into  a  chair.  "Aren't  you  ever 
going  to  stop  this  horrible  habit  ?  Why,  James,  you 
promised  your  father  you'd  never  fight  again !" 

"Don't  tell  father,"  pleaded  the  boy.  "You— 
can  lick  me  if  you  want,  ma,  but  please  don't  tell 
father." 

"I  shall  Have  to  tell  him,  James.    You'll  disgrace 


THE   CORRECT   MAN  203 

us  all.  You  must  be  made  to  stop  this  dreadful 
practice."  And  the  little  woman  arose  with  a  de- 
termined air.  Jim  caught  her  sleeve  and  began  to 
talk  with  the  rapidity  of  desperation. 

"Ma,  listen  a  minute,  can't  you?  Tom  Wiley,  he 
said  my  father  was  a  boodler,  an'  that's  how  he  got 
the  money  to  build  our  new  house,  an'  I  licked  him, 
an'  then  He  took  it  back.  An'  then  Jim  Wiley  he 
come  along,  an'  Tom  said  he  wouldn't  take  nothin' 
back,  and  then  I  licked  the  two  of  'em,  and  they 
ran  away.  That  was  this  noon ;  an'  this  evening 
Walt  Wiley  was  layin'  for  me,  an'  he  said  every- 
body knew  my  father  was  a  boodler,  an' — an'  I'd 
a  made  him  take  it  back  if  a  p'liceman  hadn't  a  come 
along." 

"Why,  Walter  Wiley  is  a  much  bigger  boy  than 
you,"  said  Mrs.  Crissey,  "I  am  afraid  he  has  hurt 
you  terribly." 

"Ho,"  cried  Jim.  "Ho,  po !  That's  nothin' !  I 
can  stand  punishment.  There  can't  no  boy  call  my 
father  a  boodler,  not  if  he's  as  big  as  John  L.  Sul- 
livan." 

"Lena,"  said  Mrs.  Crissey,  as  the  servant  came 
out  into  the  kitchen,  "give  James  his  supper  out 
here.  And — and — it  isn't  necessary  for  Mr.  Crissey 
to  know  that  he  has  come  Home.  I  shouldn't  like 
his  father  to  know  that  he  had  been  fighting  again. 


204      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

You  will  stop  fighting,  won't  you,  Jimmy?  That's 
mother's  boy.  Put  some  cold  water  on  your  eye. 
Give  James  some  pudding,  Lena." 

Jim  had  been  through  a  hard  afternoon,  and  he 
had  come  home  expecting  further  trials.  This  sud- 
den let-down  overcame  him  completely,  and  he 
blubbered  as  he  turned  on  the  water  at  the  sink. 
When  Mrs.  Crissey  returned  she  found  little 
Dorothy,  who  was  precocious,  explaining  her  most 
recent  Sunday-school  lesson. 

"They  put  Jesus  on  a  cross,"  she  went  on,  in  a 
high,  sing-song  tone,  "and  the  rooster  went  cock-a- 
doodle  doo,  cock-a-doodle  doo,  cock-a-doodle  doo, 
cock — a — "  .t 

"There,  there,  that  will  do!"  said  Mrs.  Crissey. 
"We  all  know  how  the  rooster  went.  It's  marvel- 
ous, though,  how  much  that  child  does  absorb  from 
the  things  she  hears.  What  did  Peter  do,  Dolly?" 

"Oh,  he  went  out  doors  an'  cried." 

"What  did  he  cry  for?"  asked  the  father  curi- 
ously. 

"  'Cause  he  couldn't  find  the  rooster !" 

"I  fear,"  laughed  Crissey,  "that  the  child  is  not 
laying  a  very  sound  theological  foundation." 

He  finished  his  meal  in  haste,  as  he  happened  to 
think  of  the  brief  that  was  awaiting  him  in  his  study. 
Suddenly  becoming  abstracted,  he  swallowed  his 


THE   CORRECT   MAN  205 

dessert  without  knowing  what  it  was,  arose,  and 
went  to  his  work. 

As  he  closed  the  door,  he  heard  Dorothy,  who  had 
taken  quite  an  interest  in  theological  matters  of  late, 
shouting,  "Jesus  'oves  me,  Jesus  'oves  me — oh, 
mama,  gimme  some  cake I" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ACCORDING  TO  SCHEDULE 

Mr.  Crissey  accepted  the  proposition  of  the  rail- 
road company,  and  took  his  wife  to  the  theater 
to  celebrate  the  event.  It  was  the  first  time  they 
had  been  to  the  theater  in  years,  and  the  little 
woman  enjoyed  the  treat  immensely.  When  early 
matrimonial  life  is  a  struggle,  as  had  been  the  case 
with  the  Crisseys,  people  are  likely  to  get  out  of  the 
theater  habit — almost  to  forget  that  such  a  thing  as 
a  theater  exists. 

During  the  intermission  after  the  second  act 
Dorothy  whispered  to  her  husband. 

"Wasn't  that  an  afternoon  call,  that  function  at 
the  Wilsons'?" 

"Well,  yes,"  replied  Edward;  "it  was  certainly 
in  the  afternoon.  Why?" 

She  took  his  program  from  his  lap  and  pointed 

to  the  back.    There  he  saw  the  advertisement  of  a 

fashionable  tailor,  in  tKe  form  of  a  schedule,  or 

table,  headed:    "What  the  Correctly  Dressed  Man 

206 


ACCORDING   TO   SCHEDULE        207 


Should  Wear  on  Various  Occasions."  He  studied 
the  thing  carefully  throughout  the  next  act.  A 
part  of  it  read  as  follows : 


Occasion. 

Coat. 

Waistcoat. 

Day  Weddings, 
Afternoon  Calls, 
Reception,  Teas,  and 
Matinee. 

Double 
Breasted 
Frock. 

Double  or  Single 
Breasted,  same 
Material  as  Coat, 
White  or  Fancy. 

Trousers. 

Hat. 

Shirt  and  Cuffs. 

Striped  or  Check 
Worsted,  of 
Subdued 
Shade. 

High  Silk. 

White  with 
Square  Cuffs 
Attached. 

Collar. 

Cravat. 

Gloves. 

Lap  Front  or  Poke. 

White  or  Light- 
Tone  Ascot  or 
Four-in-Hand. 

White  with 
Self  Backs. 

Shoes. 

Jewelry. 

Patent  Leather. 

Iffiiff1' 

"I  don't  think  I  was  mistaken  about  that  queer 
look  in  Mrs.  Wilson's  eye  after  all,"  he  remarked 
that  night  as  he  was  undressing  for  bed. 

"I'll  see  th'at  you  never  make  another  mistake," 
replied  his  wife  grimly,  laying  the  precious  paper 
away  in  a  bureau  drawer.  "You'll  have  the  eyes 
of  the  world  on  you  from  now  on,  and  there  must 
not  be  the  least  thing  to  criticize." 


208      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"We  must  be  looking  for  a  theater  program  that 
applies  to  your  sex  also,"  observed  the  husband. 

"Oh,  it  doesn't  make  so  much  difference  about 
me,  I  can't  go  out  in  society  while  the  children  are 
so  small.  Of  course,  if  you  should  be  made  senator 
or  governor,  I  should  need  some  dresses  for  official 
receptions.  But  just  now,  I  don't  care  to  go  into 
society.  Women's  clothes  are  so  expensive,  too," 
she  sighed. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A   CHAT   WITH    A   CYNIC 

One  peculiarity  of  the  city's  climate  consists  in  the 
difficulty  with  which  the  two  chief  divisions  of 
the  year,  winter  and  summer,  die.  There  are  cold 
days  along  in  the  fall  which  seem  to  presage  the 
immediate  advent  of  winter,  but  the  wiseacres  are 
pretty  safe  in  saying,  even  in  December,  "We 
shall  have  a  warm  spell  yet."  And  so  in  the  spring- 
time ;  one  can  never  be  sure  that  the  backbone  of 
winter  is  broken.  The  old  Frost  King,  like  a  surly 
dog,  retires  for  a  distance  as  though  going,  only  to 
return  again  and  again,  and  snarl  and  snarl.  Snow- 
flakes  in  May,  mingling  with  the  early  blossoms, 
are  among  the  possibilities.  One  likes  to  regard 
this  tenacity  of  purpose  as  typical  of  the  region  and 
the  people;  as  related  to  that  strong,  determined 
spirit  which  takes  hold  and  will  not  let  go,  and 
which  scarcely  recognizes  the  approach  of  death 
as  an  obstacle  to  indomitable  will.  Indeed,  it  is 
generally  believed  that  there  is  a  relation  between 
the  climate  and  the  character  of  a  nation  or  a  people. 


210      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

Indian  summer,  with  a  smile  as  sad  and  beautiful 
as  that  of  an  exiled  princess  bidding  farewell  to  her 
faithful  followers,  has  come.  It  is  late  Sunday 
afternoon  and  the  broad  walk  on  the  Lake  front 
near  Nellie's  flat  is  thronged.  Nellie  is  seated  with 
the  artist,  and  Harry  is  walking  with  Roth  and  his 
wife.  Grandpa  Roth  is  wheeling  a  baby  carriage  in- 
dustriously in  the  distance.  The  artist  is  showing 
a  side  which  Nellie  has  not  seen  before;  for  he  has 
for  the  moment  forgotten  his  cynicism,  and  is  car- 
ried away  by  the  beauty  of  the  scene  and  the  soft, 
subtle  allurements  of  the  hour.  The  woman  beside 
him  is  so  beautiful  and  so  silent  that  she  fits  into 
it  all  with  perfect  harmony.  He  is  giving  voice  to 
his  impressions,  and  Nellie  feels  that  a  vague  dream 
is  being  realized.  Here  is  indeed  a  taste  of  that 
culture,  that  higher  life,  for  which  slie  has  yearned 
so  long.  She  is  sitting  by  a  real  artist,  and  he  is 
talking  to  her  as  the  women  at  the  club  have  so 
often,  unsuccessfully,  tried  to  make  men  talk. 

Oh,  if  they  could  only  hear  him  now,  and  know 
that  be  was  talking  to  her!  Why  will  not  poets 
discuss  poetry,  musicians  improvise,  and  artists  give 
voice  to  their  beautiful  conceptions,  before  admiring 
throngs  of  women  and  under  the  glare  of  the  electric 
light,  where  their  eyes  can  be  seen? 

Dare  was  getting  old,  and  Nellie's  charms  ap- 


A   CHAT   WITH   A   CYNIC          211 

pealed  to  him  with  tenfold  force.  The  older  a  man 
gets  the  more  he  idealizes  tfie  women  who  admire 
him.  He  never  becomes  cynic  enough  in  his  sear 
and  yellow  years  to  pick  flaws  in  the  fair  hands 
that  bring  him  back  his  youth,  as  they  might  the 
roses  of  a  by-gone  summer. 

Nellie  could  not  understand  all  that  Dare  said, 
but  that  very  fact  flattered  her.  She  meant  to 
grasp  every  precious  sentence  with  an  alert  and 
implacable  memory;  to  write  them  all  down, 
and  to  look  up  the  references.  Dare  took  off  his 
broad  hat  from  time  to  time  as  he  talked,  and  ran 
his  long,  white  fingers  through  his  hair.  WHen  he 
pointed  to  the  Lake  or  the  horizon,  he  threw  back 
the  cape  of  his  cloak  from  his  shoulder  with  a  grace- 
ful gesture — just  such  a  gesture  as  Nellie  had 
dreamed  about  in  connection  witfi  artists.  He  was 
looking  his  youngest  to-day. 

"There  is  something  about  a  day  of  Indian  sum- 
mer such  as  this  that  reminds  me  of  certain  pas- 
sages in  the  poets,"  he  was  saying.  "An  inde- 
finable something  which  you  feel  but  can  not  express 
or  explain;  which  is  connected,  it  Has  always 
seemed  to  me,  with  tKe  effect  of  sadness  when  com- 
bined with  beauty  of  form.  TKe  sadness  may  be 
that  of  association.  For  instance,  this  day  may  not 
be  more  beautiful  than  a  day  in  June,  but  we  seem 


212      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

to  hear  every  breeze  whispering,  'Farewell,  fare- 
well!' Every  cricket  chirps,  'Farewell,  farewell!' 
Every  lingering  bird  trills  it.  There  are  certain 
passages  of  poetry  that  must  be  read  aloud  if  they 
are  to  produce  their  full  effect  upon  the  mind — 
for  sound  has  its  form  as  well  as  things  visible.  I 
have  long  ago  forgotten  the  Greek  I  learned 
in  college,  but  I  can  not  read  aloud  even  now  the 
lament  for  the  death  of  Daphnis  in  the  first  'Idyll' 
of  Theocritus,  or  the  farewell  of  Antigone  in 
Sophocles,  without  experiencing  that  feeling  of 
sadness  combined  with  beauty. 

"Perfection  of  form  is  the  right  thing  in  the  right 
place ;  and  so  perfection  of  form  in  sound  may  arise 
from  the  right  word  in  the  right  place.  But  to  get 
the  fullest  effect,  we  must  understand  the  meaning 
of  the  words." 

"How  true  that  is,"  murmured  Nellie.  "Oh,  I 
realize  that !" 

The  artist  went  on  encouraged.  A  man  of 
artistic  temperament  will  talk  as  far  over  the  head 
of  a  beautiful  woman  as  the  stars  are  above  the 
heads  of  potato  blossoms;  it  is  one  of  the  highest 
tributes  paid  to  beauty.  One  feels  as  if  it  must 
understand,  since  it  is. 

"The  words  may  not  have  great  meaning  in  them- 
selves, but  they  are  chosen  by  the  poet  for  their  as- 


A   CHAT   WITH   A   CYNIC  213 

sociation  with  heart  memories.  This,  I  think,  ac- 
counts for  much  of  the  beauty  of  Shelley's  tribute  to 
Keats,  beginning,  'I  mourn  for  Adonis ;  he  is  dead.' 

"Oh,  isn't  that  a  beautiful  thing !"  gasped  Nellie, 
mentally  resolving  to  read  it  just  as  soon  as  she 
could  get  hold  of  the  book,  and  to  commit  a  portion 
of  it  to  memory. 

"Yes ;  sad  and  beautiful,"  affirmed  Dare. 

"Oh,  very,  very  sad!"  sighed  Nellie. 

"But  the  best  example  of  this  sort  of  thing  that  I 
remember  in  the  whole  range  of  literature,"  contin- 
ued Dare,  "is  Tennyson's  lines,  beginning,  Tears, 
idle  tears,  I  know  not  what  they  mean'— -can  you 
recite  them,  Mrs.  Chapin?" 

"N — no;  I  don't  believe  I  could  at  this  moment. 
I  have  such  a  poor  memory !" 

"We  are  much  alike  in  that  respect,"  said  Dare. 
"We  can  sympathize  with  each  other.  They  go 
something  like  this : 

"Tears*  idle  tears,  I  kn'ow  not  what  they  mean, 
Tears  from  the  'depth  of  some  divine  despair 
Rise  in  the  heart,  and  gather  to  the  eyes, 
In  looking  on  the  happy  autumn  fields, 
And  thinking  of  the  days  that  are  no  more. 

"There!    I  believe  that  is  actually  all  I  can  re- 


214      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

member  of  it.  Are  you  quite  sure  you  can  not  go 
on?" 

Nellie  repeated  the  five  lines  verbatim,  in  a 
sweetly  sentimental  voice. 

"No — "  she  faltered ;  "I — that  is  all  I  know." 

"You  recite  very  feelingly,"  said  Dare.  "Your 
voice  lends  itself  to  the  sentiment  perfectly.  I 
should  like  to  hear  you  read  the  poem  all  through — 
on  such  an  evening  as  this  will  be." 

"I  shall  not  have  time  before  this  evening,"  said 
Nellie,  "but  I  will  have  it  learned  before  the  next 
time  you  come  out  to  see  me,  I  promise  you." 

Dare  glanced  down  the  walk.  Harry  and  Roth 
were  going  in  the  other  direction.  He  leaned  his 
lips  close  to  the  fresh",  rounded  cheek  of  his  com- 
panion and  hazarded: 

"You're  as  kind  as  you  are  beautiful." 

"Why,  Mr.  Dare ;  you  mustn't  flatter."  But  the 
cheek  flushed  maddeningly. 

"You  must  get  to  work  right  away,  for  I  shall 
come  soon,  I  warn  you.  That  poem  of  Tennyson's," 
he  continued,  "puts  into  words  the  very  soul  of  an 
Indian  summer  day  like  this,  which  makes  us  think 
of  our — our  lost  youth — though  neither  of  us  is  old 
enough,"  he  interpolated  hurriedly,  "to  feel  them  in 
their  full  strength.  Certainly  you  are  not,"  he  con- 
cluded gallantly.  "See  those  fluffy  clouds,  floating 


A   CHAT   WITH   A   CYNIC          215 

high  above  the  water,"  he  continued ;  "dark  at  the 
bottom,  woolly  and  sun-tinted  above — but  I  am 
talking  too  much.  The  way  to  enjoy  a  scene  like 
this  is  in  silence." 

For  a  time  they  sat  without  speaking,  during 
which  Nellie  wondered  if  she  could  not  get  Dare's 
consent  to  talk  before  the  club  exactly  as  he  had 
been  talking  to  her. 

"Let  me  see,"  she  mused,  "the  subject  should  be, 
'The  Influence  of  Poetry  on  Art.'  Or  the  influence 
of  some  great  poet  on  some  great  artist — Tennyson, 
for  instance — on — on — on" — but  she  could  not  think 
of  any  artist.  At  last  a  happy  thought  struck  her. 
"Why  not  on  Mr.  Dare  himself?" 

Just  then  Harry  passed  with  Roth. 

"When  I  get  rich,  Nell,"  he  called  cheerfully,  "I 
shall  buy  an  automobile  like  that  one  yonder.  Isn't 
it  a  cracker- jack?" 

She  noted  that  his  Sunday  suit  had  a  ready-made 
air,  and  that  there  was  nothing  distinctive  about 
him.  She  classed  him  in  her  mind  with  shoe  drum- 
mers and  drug  clerks.  What  could  such  a  man 
talk  about  before  a  woman's  club? 

The  balmy  air,  the  movement  of  people,  the  bi- 
cycles, the  teams,  the  automobiles,  made  Harry  feel 
cheerful  and  like  his  old  self. 

"A  day  like  this  makes  your  husband  think  of 


216      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT  ROAD 

automobiles,"  laughed  Roth,  "but  I  would  a  sailing 
boat  rather  have,  to  sail  away — away  to  those  loafely 
pink  clouds  over  yonder." 

And  they  passed  on. 

"My  husband  associates  with'  such  common  peo- 
ple," sighed  Nellie. 

"On  the  contrary,"  replied  Dare,  "the  man  seems 
to  have  some  poetry  in  him.  Germans  are  apt  to  be 
poetical  or  musical  or  something.  And  now  he  has 
made  a  good  suggestion.  If  we,  you  and  I — "  but 
he  felt  that  he  was  on  dangerous  ground  and  fin- 
ished with:  "Do  you  like  sailing,  Mrs.  Chapin?" 

"Oh,  I  think  it  would  be  just  delightful,"  she  re- 
plied, "if  it  were  not  so  dangerous." 

The  artist  became  silent,  and  Nellie  was  suffi- 
ciently imitative  to  follow  the  example.  The  beauty 
of  the  scene,  and  the  psychologic  glow — for  even 
souls  have  sex — awakened  by  the  beautiful  woman 
by  his  side,  delighted  and  at  the  same  time  soothed 
him.  Even  the  existence  of  the  husband,  visually 
evident  in  the  distance,  was  not  an  inharmonious 
element  in  the  picture  at  the  present  stage  of  his 
feelings.  It  added  to  the  general  impression  of 
peacefulness  and  liberty. 

Along  the  horizon,  for  the  Lake  had  a  horizon 
that  day,  were  two  or  three  steamers,  trailing  squat 


A   CHAT   WITH   A   CYNIC  217 

feathers  of  black  smoke.  Above  them  were  a  few 
parallel  bars  of  cloud,  slim  as  the  fingers  of  a  hand, 
pink  with  the  evening  light.  Nearer  by  were  sev- 
eral trim,  white  yachts,  with  the  sun  glinting  on 
their  sails;  and  numerous  little  boats,  scudding 
along,  and  tipping  to  the  breeze  tiny  triangular 
patches  of  canvas.  The  calm  Lake  was  the  color  of 
lead  near  the  shore,  but  green  as  a  lawn  farther 
out.  Frequent  whiffs  of  wind  darkened  its  surface 
as  when  a  child  breathes  on  a  mirror.  Not  far  out 
there  was  a  flock  of  sea-gulls,  sailing,  wheeling  and 
tumbling,  with  frequent  flashes  of  white  as  a  wing 
was  turned  toward  the  sun. 

From  the  road  behind  could  be  heard  the 
trotting  of  horses  and  the  whizz  of  automobiles. 
Young  couples  strolled  by,  many  of  them  girls  not 
yet  out  of  short  dresses,  and  boys  who  had  recently 
discarded  rocking-horses  for  sweethearts.  They 
talked  in  unnaturally  loud  tones  and  sought  isolated 
places  on  the  benches.  Nearly  all  of  the  girls  were 
chewing  gum — ruminating  like  kine.  A  father  and 
mother  sat  down  near  Nellie  and  the  artist,  and 
drew  a  baby  carriage  up  within  convenient  reach. 

The  father  took  a  boy  of  four  years  between  his 
knees  and  said : 

"You've  had  cake ;  you've  had  ice  cream ;  you've 


218      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

had  cracker-jack;  you've  had  everything  that's  nec- 
essary. Stop  teasing;  stop  right  immejitly!"  The 
child  began  to  cry. 

Dare  arose.  "Matrimony  is  tKe  prose  of  love," 
he  sighed.  "Let's  stroll." 

"'Oh,  Mr.  Dare,"  giggled  Nellie,  "do  you  believe 
that  marriage  is  a  failure?" 

His  cynical  mood  returned.  "Success  of  mat- 
rimony depends  on  such  small  things,"  he  replied. 
"Many  a  man's  life  is  ruined  just  because  his  wife 
has  an  unpleasant  way  of  clearing  her  throat." 

"Don't  you  like  children?"  asked  Nellie.  "I  am 
almost  afraid  I  don't  like  them.  They  prevent  a 
woman's  improving  her  mind.  Now,  my  husband 
is  crazy  about  them." 

Harry  was  at  that  moment  taking  the  Roth  baby 
from  the  carriage  and  tossing  it  up  and  down. 

"One  should  not  hate  young  babies,"  drawled  the 
artist ;  "they  are  nearly  as  interesting  as  puppies." 

"How  dreadful  you  are!"  laughed  Nellie;  and 
then  added,  remembering  an  expression  which  she 
had  often  heard,  but  whose  meaning  she  did  not 
quite  understand : 

"Do  you  believe  in  platonic  affection,  Mr.  Dare  ?" 

"There  are  more  fatherless  children  born  of  pla- 
tonic affection  than  of  any  other  kind." 

Nellie  determined  to  look  up  the  meaning  of  "pla- 


A   CHAT   WITH   A   CYNIC  219 

tonic."  This  reply  did  not  harmonize  with  the 
somewhat  hazy  impression  which  she  had  formed  of 
the  subject.  She  blushed  slightly  at  the  uncom- 
fortable thought  that  perhaps  she  had  asked  an  im- 
proper question. 

"Some  people  claim  that  happy  married  life  is 
heaven,"  continued  Dare  reflectively.  "No  one  dis- 
putes that  unhappy  married  life  is  hell." 

"Oh!"  gasped  Nellie;  "what  strong  language!" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Chapin.  But  I  have  no 
doubt  that  the  language  is  no  stronger  than  the  sub- 
ject demands.  Think  over  your  friends,"  he  con- 
tinued ;  "most  of  them  are  either  just  getting  mar- 
ried or  just  getting  divorced. 

"For  a  marriage  to  be  happy,"  added  Dare,  "each 
party  must  know  all  of  the  other's  faults,  and  must 
know  whether  or  not  he  or  she  can  put  up  with 
them.  I  should  think  that  a  happy  marriage,  leav- 
ing out  the  element  of  luck,  could  only  be  possible 
after  a  long  courtship — say,  twenty-five  or  thirty 
years." 

"But  anybody  would  get  sick  of  a  person  in  that 
length  of  time !"  cried  Nellie. 

"Then  they  wouldn't  marry.  Were  it  not  that 
couples  are  apt  to  become  odious  to  each  other,  the 
institution  of  matrimony;  would  not  be  necessary." 


220      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD. 

"Do  you  know  it's  almost  six  o'clock?"  asked 
Harry,  coming  up.  "It's  supper  time." 

"Are  you  hungry?"  inquired  Dare  good-na- 
turedly. 

"Hungry  as  a  bear.  Won't  you  come  home  and 
take  pot-luck  with  us?  Nell,  what  have  you  got 
for  supper?" 

Nellie  was  so  evidently  embarrassed  that  Dare  re- 
fused, saying  gracefully  that  he  would  be  glad  to 
come  some  other  time  when  he  would  not  take 
them  so  by  surprise. 

"It  will  give  me  an  excuse  for  coming  again," 
he  murmured,  as  he  walked  toward  the  house  with 
Mrs.  Chapin,  while  Harry  followed  with  the  Roths. 

"What  a  woman-hater  you  must  be!"  exclaimed 
Nellie. 

"I  a  woman-hater?  One  reason  for  my  hating 
matrimony  is  that  it — ah — sometimes  ties  a  beauti- 
ful woman  up  so  that — ah — another  man  has  no 
right  to  make  love  to  her." 

"Do  you  believe  that  people  sometimes  die  for 
love  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed.  Between  the  people  who  are 
dying  for  love,  and  those  who  are  dying  to  get  away 
from  their  life  partners,  the  coroner  is  kept  pretty 
prosperous." 


A   CHAT   WITH   A   CYNIC          221 

"I  do  so  wish  you  would  talk  on  this  subject  be- 
fore the  club.  I  have  been  so  interested !" 

Dare  laughed. 

"I  will  come  and  talk  to  you  as  often  as  you  will 
let  me,  but  never  before  the  club.  My  limitations 
include  the  inability  to  talk  to  more  than  one  woman 
at  once,  and  even  then  she  must  be  a  good  listener. 
Among  your  many  virtues  I  find  that  you  possess 
the  golden  gift  of  being  a  good  listener !" 

"Flattering  again !" 

"No,  I  assure  you.  The  great  stumbling  block 
of  your  charming  sex,  Mrs.  Chapin,  is  fluency.  Put 
a  shallow  woman  through  school,  and  she  simply 
learns  the  names  of  more  subjects  to  talk  ignorantly 
about.  Now  you,  you  never  speak  without  having 
something  to  say.  Who  is  that  unprepossessing 
lady  who  just  saluted  you?" 

"That?  Why,  that's  our  landlady — the  woman 
who  owns  the  house  where  we  live.  Why  ?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  Mere  idle  curiosity,  sharpened 
somewhat  by  Her  peculiar  style  of  beauty.  She  be- 
longs to  that  class  of  women  who  look  like  wax 
figures  whose  faces  have  melted  and  run  a  little." 

Nellie  was  vastly  amused.  We  do  not  love  those 
to  whom  it  is  necessary  to  make  regular  payments 
of  money,  no  matter  how  just  the  claim. 


222      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"I  should  hate  to  have  you  down  on  me,"  she 
laughed.  "Wonder  what  you  would  say  behind  my 
back?" 

"I  could  never  say  anything  truthfully,  except 
that  you  are  the  most  beautiful  and  charming  wom- 
an I  ever  met." 

"Why,  Mr.  Dare!  And  suppose  my  husband 
should  hear  you  ?  He  might  think  it  funny  to  hear 
you  paying  me  such  extravagant  compliments." 

"I  wouldn't  hurt  his  feelings  for  the  world,"  whis- 
pered Dare.  "He  seems  a  good  sort.  Though  how 
he  ever  won  such  a  woman  will  always  be  a  mystery 
to  me !" 

"Let's  all  make  up  a  party  and  go  down  to  Ma'am 
Galli's  some  night,"  cried  Harry,  coming  up.  "It's 
the  greatest  macaroni  joint  in  town.  I  suppose  all 
artists  like  macaroni  and  spaghetti  and  that  sort  of 
thing?" 

"Oh,  yes;  it's  our  natural  food;  we  thrive  on  it 
as  the  ancient  Israelites  did  upon  manna.  I  always 
take  a  straight  spaghetti  diet  for  two  weeks  before 
beginning  a  picture." 

"You're  stringin'  me  now,"  laughed  Harry. 

It  did  not  occur  to  Nellie  to  be  offended  by  any  of 
Dare's  remarks  derogatory  to  matrimony  or  to  her 
own  sex.  She  was  no  champion  of  her  sex  or  of 
the  marriage  relation.  She  was,  first  of  all,  a  hero 


A   CHAT   WITH   A   CYNIC  223 

worshiper;  and  she  believed  that  in  the  artist  she 
had  found  the  real  thing. 

Dare  ate  his  dinner  at  the  Rienzi,  and  then  walked 
in  the  park  to  smoke  his  cigar.  He  strolled  toward 
the  Lake,  passing  the  very  bench  whereon  Harry 
had  proposed  to  the  girl  with  the  red-gold  hair. 

"The  world  is  divided  into  two  kinds  of  fools,"  he 
muttered  as  he  reached  the  breakwater,  "old  fools 
and  young  fools." 

A  few  pairs  of  lovers  were  sitting  on  the  benches, 
at  long  distances  apart.  The  maidens  were  lean- 
ing fondly  against  their  swains  in  sweet,  primeval 
surrender.  The  couples  stopped  talking  as  he 
passed. 

There  was  a  one-third  moon  in  the  sky,  and  an 
infinite,  silver  twinkling  on  the  water,  a  pallor  sad 
as  love's  sad  smile.  Bicycle  lamps,  like  will-o'-the- 
wisps,  went  drifting  by.  A  distant  lighthouse 
opened  and  closed  its  fiery  eye,  like  a  watch  dog 
half  asleep.  The  silken  skirts  of  the  queen  of  lakes 
rustled  at  the  city's  feet. 

Dare  sat  down  and  smoked  a  while  in  silence. 

"A  man  can't  lie  to  himself  about  his  age,"  he 
grumbled.  "Dare,  you  old  fool,  you'll  be  fifty  in 
three  months." 

He  rose,  stretched  wearily,  and  sat  down  again. 

"A  man  of  my  age  grabs  at  a  thing  like  this  as  a 


224      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

drowning  man  at  a  straw.  It  may  be  his  last 
chance.  When  the  heart  gets  to  work  it  shakes  an 
old  carcass  more  violently  than  it  does  a  young  one. 
Dry  timber  burns  more  fiercely  than  green." 

As  he  reached  the  road  an  empty  cab  came  by, 
and  he  hailed  it. 

"I  might  induce  her  to  go  to  Paris,"  he  mused 
as  he  settled  himself  on  the  seat  and  fumbled  in  his 
pocket  for  a  cigarette.  "But  then  her  husband 
would  get  a  divorce,  and  she'd  bedevil  me  to  marry 
her." 

And  this  thought  troubled  him. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE    CITY    FATHERS 

If  the  city,  with  its  stern,  deep  canons,  its  pall 
of  drifting  smoke,  its  dark  buildings,  its  titanic 
roar,  its  pallid  throngs  hurrying  hither  and  yon 
like  ghosts  in  the  wan  purlieus  of  hell,  be  justly 
comparable  to  a  capital  of  Dis,  then  the  City  Hall 
is  the  one  building  which,  more  than  all  others,  is 
the  palace  of  its  king.  For  greed  is  the  modern 
Pluto,  and  upon  one  body  which  meets  in  the  City 
Hall  are  directed  all  the  blandishments,  all  the 
intrigue,  all  the  influence  of  which  the  great  god 
Mammon  is  capable. 

The  city  fathers  are  too  often,  like  the  evil  one 
himself,  fathers  of  lies  and  iniquity.  They  are  too 
often  chamberlains,  spies,  lackeys,  of  the  king  of 
corruption.  The  Common  Council  has  been  in 
times  past,  and  may  be  again,  nothing  more  than  the 
court  of  this  ruler  of  American  cities. 

In  appearance  and  situation,  this  building  is  well 
fitted  to  play  the  role  which  we  have  ascribed  to  it. 
225 


226      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

It  is  located  in  the  very  heart  of  feverish  strife, 
clamor,  and  pitiless  ugliness.  About  its  somber 
battlements  the  smoke  settles  thickest,  and  trie 
soot  is  coated  upon  it  in  scales.  It  radiates  a 
chill  shadow  as  a  vast  block  of  ice  might  throw 
off  cold,  and  the  blessed  sunlight  rarely  penetrates 
to  the  streets  which  surround  it,  even  in  the  middle 
of  the  day.  It  is  the  heaviest  and  most  forbid- 
ding structure  on  the  whole  earth,  and  reminds  one 
of  a  gigantic  mausoleum,  or  a  tremendous  boulder 
hurled  there  by  Jove  to  keep  a  buried  Saturn  quiet 
through  countless  ages.  So  gloomy  is  this  struct- 
ure, so  thoroughly  is  darkness  one  of  its  attributes, 
that  the  electric  bulbs  at  the  desks  of  the  workers 
make  tiny  points  of  light,  as  seen  by  the  passer-by, 
and  their  rays  do  not  appear  to  penetrate  the  sur- 
rounding gloom. 

Roll  the  world  back  a  few  hundred  years,  and 
one  would  surely  find  over  the  principal  entrance 
the  motto,  "Leave  hope  behind,  all  ye  who  enter 
here."  What  chambers  of  horror  can  one  not 
imagine  within  such  gloomy  and  mysterious  walls ; 
what  hooded  inquisitors ;  what  forgotten  dungeons, 
what  underground  passages,  dank  with  dripping 
moisture  and  leading  to  slow  torture  and  unknown 
deaths ! 

Such  dungeons  and  cells  do  not  exist ;  yet  in  one 


THE   CITY   FATHERS  227 

room  of  this  building  has  been  enacted  more  in- 
iquity than  has  ever  before  been  crowded  into  an 
equal  amount  of  inclosed  space.  Men  have  de- 
livered their  souls  here,  after  deliberately  selling 
them ;  they  have  forsworn  themselves ;  they  have 
betrayed  mankind  as  foully  as  ever  did  Judas.  And 
yet  in  the  Senate  chamber  meet  once  a  week  the 
men  to  whom  are  intrusted  in  great  measure  the 
health  of  thousands  of  little  children  and  of  the 
poor;  the  morals  of  a  generation,  its  comfort, 
safety  and  education;  its  physical  and  esthetic 
welfare.  One  would  suppose  that  the  most  ig- 
norant and  depraved  atoms  of  a  great  common- 
wealth, through  the  instinct  of  self-preservation 
alone,  would  vote  only  for  men  of  high  char- 
acter as  members  of  this  vital  body.  Alas !  some- 
how, wolves  that  do  not  even  take  the  trouble  to 
put  on  sheep's  clothing  often  get  into  it  with  full 
power  to  vote  away  the  people's  money.  Incredible 
as  it  may  seem,  even  saloon-keepers  have  been  found 
there.  Of  late,  thanks  to  the  vigilance  of  the 
Municipal  League,  a  higher  standard  of  character 
has  prevailed,  and  the  elevating  process,  begun  some 
time  ago,  is  still  going  on. 

During  Edward  Crissey's  incumbency  of  office, 
however,  things  were  about  as  bad  as  they  well 
could  be,  and  the  respectable  element,  of  which  he 


228      THE  LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

was  the  leader,  was  largely  in  the  minority.  "The 
alderman  business"  was  good.  It  was  rumored  that 
as  high  as  fifty  thousand  dollars  had  been  offered 
for  votes  by  certain  corporations,  desiring  long 
extensions  of  franchise.  Fifty  thousand  dollars  is 
a  smart  sum  for  a  worthless,  ignorant  scalawag 
with  a  genius  for  ward  politics ;  it  means  affluence 
to  a  prognathous  keeper  of  a  levee  dive. 

Crissey  heard  no  more  of  Murchison  and  tKe 
telephone  scheme  for  some  time  after  the  memorable 
interview  in  the  Magnate's  office.  The  lawyer 
knew,  however,  that  the  matter  had  not  been 
dropped,  for  the  simple  reason  that  men  of  Mur- 
chison's  stamp  do  not  drop  things.  Mammon 
works  slowly,  cautiously,  but  persistently.  Setting 
the  lowest  possible  standard  for  humanity,  and  be- 
lieving in  man's  weakness  and  ultimate  depravity, 
it  keeps  its  emissaries  continually  on  the  alert, 
casting  tHeir  lines  with  all  the  cunning  of  the  most 
skilful  fisherman.  And  the  genius  of  greed,  like 
any  other  manifestation  of  genius,  knows  how  to 
wait.  If  one  body  of  men  prove  unavailable,  it 
looks  into  the  future,  and  goes  patiently  about 
securing  more  promising  material. 

But  now  the  telephone  ordinance  has  again 
bobbed  up.  It  has  been  referred  to  the  appropriate 
committee,  and  is  likely  to  be  brought  to  vote  on 


THE   CITY   FATHERS  229 

this  very  evening  which  finds  Edward  Crissey  strid- 
ing vigorously  toward  the  City  Hall.  As  he  reaches 
the  corner  of  Madison  Street,  he  is  met  by  a  little 
man  whom  he  has  often  seen  about  the  building, 
and  whose  clean-shaven,  insignificant  face  he  has 
sometimes  noticed  in  the  visitors'  gallery  at  the 
Council  meetings.  He  has  never  connected  him 
with  any  particular  business  there,  but  has  thought 
of  him,  when  at  all,  as  one  of  the  people  who  take 
an  interest  in  legislative  proceedings ;  men  who  are 
looking  for  cheap  amusement,  who  are  indirectly 
interested  in  some  ordinance,  or  whose  friends  are 
to  be  benefited  by  the  passage  of  some  measure. 

"Good  evening,  Alderman,"  says  this  little  man, 
pronouncing  the  magic  work  alderman  with  as 
much  reverence  as  though  it  had  been  senator; 
"going  to  the  Council  ?" 

"Yes ;  just  on  my  way,"  replied  Crissey,  with  that 
cordiality  which  made  him  so  many  friends. 

"Believe  I'll  walk  back  with  you,"  said  the  little 
man,  "if  you'll  permit  me.  I've  nowhere  else  to  go 
this  evening.  Will  there  be  a  lively  session,  do 
you  think?" 

"It  all  depends  on  what  measures  come  up,"  re- 
plied the  alderman,  "and — and — who's  there." 

"Yes,  that's  so.  By  the  way,  there's  likely  to  be 
a  fight  over  that  telephone  matter.  I'm  glad  now 


230      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

I  thought  of  going  back.  They  say  Murchison  is 
using  wads  of  money  to  carry  his  point."  The 
roar  of  the  traffic  was  so  great  at  this  point  that  the 
little  man  was  obliged  to  dance  along  on  tiptoe  and 
shout  in  his  companion's  ear. 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed  Crissey,  forging  ahead  and 
not  so  mucK  as  looking  down. 

"Yes.  A  friend  told  me  that  he  was  offering  as 
high  as  ten  thousand  dollars  apiece  to  scrub  alder- 
men, and  that  he  would  be  willing  to  give  more  to 
two  or  three  of  the  leaders." 

Crissey  made  no  reply,  but  the  faintest  smile 
imaginable,  an  amused  smile,  played  for  a  brief 
moment  about  his  lips. 

They  entered  the  building  together,  and  the  little 
man  trotted  along  by  his  side.  Just  before  they 
reached  the  elevator,  the  latter  remarked : 

"That  was  probably  a  mistake  about  the  ten  thou- 
sand dollars.  I  guess  my  friend  was  only  joking." 

"Very  likely,"  grunted  Crissey.  He  knew  now 
why  this  creature  was  a  frequenter  of  the  City  Hall. 

The  alderman  entered  the  Council  chamber,  took 
his  seat,  and  hung  his  overcoat  on  a  projection 
of  the  desk  behind  him.  The  honorable  mayor,  al- 
ready in  his  chair,  was  lighting  a  long,  black  cigar ; 
and  the  air  of  the  room  was  opaque  with  tobacco 
smoke.  Several  of  the  saloon-keeping  "fathers" 


THE   CITY   FATHERS  231 

were  smoking  their  own  goods,  brought  from  dives 
notorious  for  the  vileness  of  their  purveyance. 

His  Honor  sat  at  a  raised  desk,  beneath  a  great 
eagle  carved  in  wood,  and  bearing  the  motto,  "State 
Sovereignty."  He  was  a  handsome  young  man, 
with  a  destiny  and  a  mustache.  The  former  was  as 
expansive  as  a  horizon  from  which  clouds  are  roll- 
ing away;  for  it  took  in  the  State  Capitol,  and 
sometimes  even  the  White  House  flickered  dimly 
on  its  outer  rim  like  a  distant  mirage.  The  latter 
was  jammed  up  under  his  nostrils  in  such  a  way 
that  it  resembled  those  toy  mustaches  which  fakirs 
sell  in  the  streets.  His  cheeks  were  red  and  boyish, 
and  there  was  about  the  configuration  of  his  nose  a 
hint  of  that  dish-faced  effect  which  has  marked  a 
whole  line  of  American  statesmen. 

Two  youths  in  the  gallery  were  leaning  over  the 
railing  and  pointing  out  the  dignitaries  below. 
Members  were  strolling  about  and  chatting  with 
one  another,  even  though  the  meeting  had  already 
been  called  to  order.  Crissey  cast  his  eye  over  the 
semi-circular  row  of  seats  behind  him,  and  noticed 
that  there  was  a  full  attendance. 

A  representative  of  the  Municipal  League — a 
bright-eyed  young  man  with  a  long,  narrow  face, 
and  a  bald  spot  sprinkled  with  a  sparse  second 
growth  of  fine  hair,  which  he  nervously  rubbed 


232      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

every  moment  to  see  if  it  was  still  there — stood 
just  below  the  mayor,  and  watched  the  proceedings 
keenly.  He  held  a  long  slip  in  his  hand,  a  list  of 
the  aldermen,  and  made  a  record  of  their  votes  on 
every  question. 

The  clerk,  stationed  at  a  lectern,  was  reading  in 
a  monotonous  sing-song  from  a  pile  of  manuscripts 
measures  that  were  being  submitted.  He  had  cop- 
ied the  mayor's  voice  and  expression  to  such  a  de- 
gree that  he  seemed,  as  indeed  he  was,  a  mere  echo 
of  that  great  man.  At  regular  intervals  the  clerk 
launched  his  voice  into  space,  with  always  the  same 
intonations,  and  paused  a  moment  while  he  took 
breath. 

"That  permission  be  and  hereby  is  granted — for 
a  period  of  five  years  from  the  passage  hereof — to 
the  L.  J.  McCormick  estate,  to  construct  and  main- 
tain bay  windows  at  the  building  on  the  southeast 
corner — of  Madison  and  La  Salle  Streets,  one  of 
said  windows  to  be  on  the  La  Salle  Street  side — " 

He  was  a  man  transformed  into  a  mere  vocal 
machine,  as  expressionless  as  an  ossified  man  tell- 
ing his  story  to  an  audience  in  a  dime  museum.  As 
he  finished  each  manuscript,  voices  were  heard  from 
various  parts  of  the  chamber: 

"Publish." 

"No !  No !    Don't  want  to  publish." 


THE   CITY   FATHERS  233 

"File." 

"Refer  to  the  Committee  on  Streets  and  Alleys 
West." 

"Finance!  Finance!" 

There  was  a  continual  murmur  of  talk. 

Occasionally  his  Honor  scratched  a  match  and 
relighted  his  cigar,  which  had  a  remarkable  facility 
for  going  out,  or  tapped  on  the  desk  with  a  gavel  of 
black  wood  and  cried  in  a  perfunctory  tone, 

"Aldermen  will  please  take  their  seats." 

One  of  the  city  fathers,  an  Irishman  with  a  very 
red  face  and  the  humorous  gray  eyes  of  his  native 
land,  was  as  drunk  as  Father  Noah. 

"What  is  it?"  he  shouted,  suddenly  starting  to 
his  feet  and  swaying  about  as  he  supported  himself 
by  resting  both  hands  on  his  desk. 

"What  is  it,  Alderman?"  inquired  his  Honor, 
looking  up  from  a  pile  of  papers. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  replied  the  legis- 
lator, scratching  his  head  and  gazing  comically 
about. 

"The  alderman  had  better  go  to  sleep  again," 
muttered  the  mayor,  loudly  enough  to  be  heard,  a 
recommendation  which  was  promptly  followed. 

Later  the  same  gentleman  awoke  again,  and  de- 
manded fiercely : 

"Wait  a  minute — wait  a  minute.    WHur's  all  this 


234      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

goan  to  be  done?  In  the  Sixt'  war-rd?  There's 
so  much  done  in  Woodlawn  an'  the  Sixt'  war-rd 
that  we're  gittin'  tired  of  it.  We'd  like  to  know 
whur  it's  goan  to  be  done  ?" 

A  voice:    "Oh,  all  over  the  city." 

"Not  on  your  loife." 

His  Honor:    "Order,  gentlemen ;  order." 

When  the  measure  prohibiting  the  sale  of  in- 
toxicating liquors  in  closed  rooms  was  put  to  vote, 
this  alderman  awoke  instinctively.  He  did  not  be- 
come sober  enough  to  make  his  great  speech  on  the 
motion,  however,  until  a  confrere  had  spoken,  a 
gentleman  who  resembled  a  Scotch  divine,  and  was 
known  as  the  Old  Gray  Wolf.  He  rose  limply,  it 
is  true,  but  did  not  find  his  voice  before  the  roll  had 
been  called,  and  the  voting  nearly  done.  Then  he 
extended  his  hand  and  shouted  again  his  favorite 
expression:  "Wait  a  minute — wait  a  minute. 

"You  say  it  will  close  up  every  hotel  in  the  city," 
he  began.  "I  say  rather  it  will  d-rive  those  poor 
devils  in  there  who  feel  the  need  of  a  dr-rink  and 
haven't  the  money  to  pay  f'r  a  room.  An'  the  man 
who  wishes  to  take  his  wife  in  f'r  a  dr-rink,  or  his 
wife's  frind — er  his  frind's  wife — "  Tumultuous 
applause  and  laughter. 

"Whativer  alderman  is  not  guilty,"  shouted  the 


THE   CITY   FATHERS  235 

orator,  "let  him  hold  up  his  hand.  This  ahrdinance 
won't  hold  wather,  annyway." 

Voice:    "It  isn't  meant  to — " 

"Nur  anny  other  liquid,"  concluded  the  orator, 
collapsing. 

Crissey  was  amused  and  slightly  disgusted  by 
these  proceedings,  but  took  <no  part  in  them,  further 
than  to  vote  against  the  wine  rooms.  The  next 
thing  in  order  of  business  was  the  telephone  or- 
dinance, which  came  up  for  a  final  reading  at  a  late 
hour.  Its  wording  was  brief,  and  it  provided  for 
an  extension  of  the  existing  company's  charter  for  a 
period  of  fifty  years. 

During  its  reading  the  chamber  was  a  trifle  more 
noisy  than  usual,  as  though  some  matter  of  minor 
importance  were  being  introduced.  The  repre- 
sentative of  the  Municipal  League  noticed,  how- 
ever, that  the  noise  was  being  made  entirely  by  the 
less  reputable  element.  The  faithful  were  on  the 
alert.  The  measure  was  introduced  by  one  of  the 
professional  aldermen — a  member  who  had  no  other 
visible  means  of  support  than  his  connection  with 
the  chamber.  He  spoke  quite  fluently  and  spe- 
ciously of  the  benefits  to  be  derived  by  the  people  of 
the  city  from  this  measure.  It  would  put  the  com- 
pany on  a  sounder  financial  basis  and  allow  it  to 
float  its  bonds  more  easily.  The  plant  could  be  im- 


236      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT  ROAD 

proved  in  all  its  details ;  necessary  repairs  be  made, 
and  new  appliances  put  in;  more  expensive  and 
therefore  better  operators  and  employees  could  be 
secured ;  and  better  service  promised.  Finally,  the 
company  would  be  enabled,  immediately  or  in  the 
near  future,  to  make  a  lower  rate  for  the  public 
telephones,  a  universal  rate  within  the  city,  in  fact, 
of  five  cents.  Several  other  members  spoke  briefly 
to  the  same  effect,  and  the  emissary  of  the  Municipal 
League  took  down  their  names  with  great  care. 

Then  Crissey  arose,  ran  his  fingers  through  his 
white  hair,  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and 
addressed  the  chair.  He  spoke  slowly  and  without 
the  least  excitement. 

"Your  Honor,"  he  said,  "I  have  been  twice  of- 
fered large  sums  of  money  to  support  this  ordinance 
—once  some  time  ago,  and  again  to-night.  I  pre- 
sume that  the  emissary  of  the  company  who  ap- 
proached me  to-night  was  not  aware  that  I  had  al- 
ready been  approached  by  his  superiors,  because 
he  ingenuously  mentioned  a  sum  much  lower  than 
the  value  which  I  am  supposed  by  those  of  larger 
experience  to  possess." 

When  Crissey  wished  to  be  ironical  he  generally 
became  ponderous. 

"I  will  not  follow  the  example  set  by  my  confrere 
on  the  left  who  made  the  eloquent  speech  on  the 


THE   CITY   FATHERS  237 

wine-room  ordinance,  and  ask  those  who  have  been 
approached  similarly  with  myself  to  hold  up  their 
right  hands.  I  will  only  say  that  every  man  who 
votes  for  this  iniquitous  measure,  does  so — " 

Cries  of,  "Stop!  Stop!"  "Call  him  to  order!" 
"Sit  down!"  "Don't  you  go  too  far!"  "Hypo- 
crite !" 

But  Crissey's  voice  swelled  above  the  uproar,  dis- 
tinct and  perfectly  audible — "does  so  with  full 
knowledge  of  the  fact  that  I,  at  least,  have 
been  offered  a  bribe.  That  I  did  not  accept  it 
is  evident  from  the  fact  that  I  am  going  to  vote 
against  this  iniquitous  bill.  We  are  already  in  the 
power  of  the  gas  trust,  and  we  are  paying  twice  as 
much  as  we  ought  for  every  foot  of  gas  that  we 
burn.  We  are  already  in  the  power  of  the  traction 
trust,  and  we  have  the  worst  system  of  surface  rail- 
roads in  the  world.  You  know  what  will  happen  if 
we  put  the  people  of  this  town  in  the  hands  of  the 
telephone  company ;  poorer  service  if  possible,  more 
exasperating  appliances,  and  perhaps,  God  knows, 
even  higher  prices.  If  the  thing  should  come  up 
again  fifty  years  from  now,  the  company  would  ask 
for  a  hundred-year  extension,  and  would  be  able 
to  pay  aldermen  one  hundred  thousand  apiece  for 
their  votes." 

The  eloquent  Irishman  jumped  to  his  feet. 


238      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"He's  heard  that  br-bribes  were  bein'  offered," 
he  cried,  "and  he's  hot  because  none  of  'em  came  his 
way !" 

"Sit  down,  you  drunken  loafer,"  commanded 
Crissey. 

"Don't  yer  call  me  a  loafer,  ye  hypocr-rite !"  and 
he  started  for  Crissey,  but  two  or  three  of  those 
nearest  to  him  seized  him  and  forced  him  back  into 
his  seat. 

Serious  violence  was  feared,  as  the  enraged 
Irishman  was  known  to  carry  a  knife,  with  which 
he  had  once  disemboweled  an  enemy  in  a  saloon 
brawl.  Pandemonium  reigned  for  several  minutes, 
and  above  the  hubbub  could  be  heard  the  steady 
"tap,  tap,  tap"  of  his  Honor's  gavel.  Order  was  at 
last  restored,  and  the  motion  was  put.  It  was  lost 
by  three  votes. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE    HEART   OF   THE    CYNIC 

The  artist  was  giving  Nellie  a  French  lesson  one 
morning  in  December.  He  had  solved  the  problem 
of  regular  visits  by  proposing  bi-weekly  conversa- 
tional lessons,  and  she  had  jumped  eagerly  at  this 
opportunity  for  mental  improvement. 

"It's  so  kind  of  you,"  she  gushed,  "to  think  of 
wasting  your  precious  time  on  poor  me !  I  should 
feel  like  a  criminal.  No  one  person  has  a  right  to 
monopolize  a  great  genius  like  you." 

The  artist  winced  a  trifle  at  the  extravagance  and 
directness  of  this  praise ;  there  was  so  much  of  the 
conventional  woman's  adoration  for  genius,  real  or 
imaginary,  in  it.  But  he  was  an  artist ;  and  the  lips 
that  uttered  the  sentiment  were  pretty,  and  the  big 
hazel  eyes,  with  the  reddish  gleam,  had  been  very, 
very  serious. 

"Oh,  my  own  French  is  not  any  too  good,"  he 
replied.  "I  need  a  little  practice,  and  I've  no  doubt 
you  speak  as  well  as  I  do.  No  American  ever 
239 


240      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

learns  real  French  anyway.  The  French  spoken  by 
foreigners  is  a  sort  of  Volapiik ;  useful  all  over  the 
world,  but  it's  not  French.  The  wonder  of  the 
whole  matter  is  that  the  French  themselves  under- 
stand it." 

He  found  it  necessary  to  begin  with  the  simplest 
sentences ;  for  Nellie's  lessons,  pursued  now  for 
nearly  two  years  with  intermittent  zeal,  had  re- 
sulted only  in  the  ability  to  say,  "Bon  jour,"  "Com- 
ment vous  portez-vous?"  "Parlez-vous  frangaisf" 
and  "Je  ne  vous  comprends  pas" 

Her  pronunciation,  as  the  artist  soon  found,  was 
hopeless.  Nellie  quite  prided  herself  on  her  pro- 
nunciation, as  her  teacher  at  the  Newberry  gave 
her  considerable  encouragement  in  this  particular. 
Nellie  imagined,  moreover,  that  though  she  could 
not  speak  fluently,  she  could  understand  everything 
that  was  said. 

"I  may  miss  a  word  now  and  then,"  she  was  in  the 
habit  of  explaining,  "but  I  get  the  general  sense 
of  it  all,  just  the  same  as  if  it  were  English !"  Like 
the  other  women  in  the  class,  she  usually  had  her 
version  of  the  lectures  in  French,  and  could  tell 
quite  fluently  what  had  been  said. 

The  strange  thing  was  that  each  member  had  a 
widely  different  version,  and  that  each  confidently 
believed  that  she  had  comprehended  everything. 


THE   HEART   OF   THE   CYNIC      241 

Heated  discussions  were  the  result,  amounting 
sometimes  almost  to  quarrels.  The  teacher's  chief 
skill  lay  in  the  settling  of  these  disputes,  for  he 
possessed  a  way  of  apparently  harmonizing  the 
numerous  versions  of  his  discourse  and  of  making 
each  pupil  think  that  he  had  said  exactly  what  she 
imagined. 

"That's  the  funny  thing  about  it,"  Nellie  was  ex- 
plaining to  Dare,  as  the  two  sat  in  her  window  that 
December  morning  looking  out  over  the  Lake.  "No 
matter  how  fast  any  one  talks,  I  can  understand, 
but  I  can  not  reply — that  is,  of  course,  if  they  talk 
good  French." 

She  was  dressed  in  a  blue  flannel  waist,  with 
perpendicular  bands  of  oriental  trimming.  She 
had  applied  a  little  rouge  judiciously  to  her  cheeks, 
and  the  blue  of  her  waist  added,  by  color  effect,  to 
the  richness  and  warmth  of  their  glow.  Dare  had 
felt  chilly  coming  up  on  the  car. 

"Still,  the  only  way  to  learn  to  converse  is  to  talk 
every  opportunity  that  you  get,"  he  observed.  "I 
remember  an  experience  of  mine  years  ago,  when  I 
>?as  going  from  Brindisi  to  Rome  by  rail — " 

"OK,  How  delightful  it  must  be  to  travel  in  those 
foreign  countries !"  exclaimed  Nellie,  with  a  far- 
away look  in  her  eyes. 

"This  particular  journey  is  about  the  most  tedious 


242      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

on  the  face  of  the  globe.  Well,  there  was  a  mys- 
terious, Frenchy-looking  person  in  the  compartment 
with  me — dark,  with  waxed  mustaches,  sharp  as 
needles,  and  a  pointed  little  beard — " 

"How  interesting  those  foreigners  are!"  sighed 
Nellie. 

"We  had  been  traveling  for  hours  through  the 
flattest,  hottest  and  dustiest  landscape  imaginable. 
I  grew  dreadfully  bored,  and  looked  furtively  at 
my  traveling  companion  many  times.  I  was  sure 
he  could  speak  French — " 

"Every  educated  person  over  there  does." 

"And  I  remembered  my  teacher's  parting  injunc- 
tion to  seize  every  opportunity  to  talk,  talk,  talk. 
So  I  summoned  up  courage  at  last  to  say  to  him  in 
my  best  Ollendorfian,  'Parlez-vous  frangais?  He 
smiled  in  the  politest  manner  imaginable,  moved 
toward  me  and  talked  fluently  for  about  five  min- 
utes, finishing  with  a  question,  as  was  evident  from 
his  rising  reflection.  Of  course,  I  didn't  under- 
stand a  word,  so  I  replied  with  the  only  other 
sentence  that  I  really  knew  that  seemed  appropriate, 
'Je  ne  vous  comprends  pas.'  He  glared  at  me,  and 
moved  suddenly  to  the  other  end  of  the  seat.  Every 
few  moments  during  the  remainder  of  the  journey 
he  looked  at  me  out  of  the  corner  of  his  dark  eye 
in  the  most  extraordinary  manner.  I  don't  know 


THE   HEART   OF   THE    CYNIC      243 

whether  he  thought  that  I  meant  to  insult  him,  or 
whether  he  feared  that  I  was  a  madman." 

"OK,  how  perfectly  dreadful  that  must  have 
been !"  gasped  Nellie.  "I  don't  know  wKat  I  should 
have  done.  Maybe  he  talked  too  fast.  Why 
didn't  you  say  to  him,  ' Paries  ploo  longtemong? 
Je  nee  vous  comprong  pas?'  Do  you  know — "  and 
she  leaned  toward  the  artist  as  though  she  were 
making  a  confession,  "that  sometimes  even  yet, 
when  they  talk  too  fast,  I  can't  follow  them.  Why, 
you  couldn't  understand  English  if  it  were  all  run 
together  in  one  word.  I  went  the  other  night  to 
hear  Sarah  Bernhardt.  There  was  a  Frenchman 
came  out  before  the  play  began  and  delivered  a  lect- 
ure on  Madame  Bernhardt's  art.  He  talked  just 
like  this :  'Ng,  ng,  ng — crrrr — .'  "  The  recollec- 
tion made  Nellie  quite  indignant.  "All  I  could 
understand  was,  ever  so  often,  'Sah-ah  Behn-hah, 
Sah-ah  Behn-hah — .'  " 

Dare  had  never  heard  her  pronounce  two  French 
words  so  perfectly  before. 

"I  don't  believe  he  spoke  French  very  perfectly, 
anyway,"  concluded  Nellie.  "He  probably  came 
from  one  of  the  provinces.  They  say  they  have  all 
sorts  of  dialects  over  there.  Of  course,  our  teacher 
gives  us  nothing  but  the  pure  Parisian." 

"Well,  let's  get  down  to  business,"  said  Dare. 


244      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  You  read  me  some  of 
these  sentences  from  the  book,  and  I'll  translate. 
Then  I'll  read,  and  you  can  translate." 

"Ahem!"  complied  Nellie.  "Mong  ongkle  all 
ung  fil  et  oon  feel." 

"My  uncle  has  one  son  and  one  daughter.  But 
pardon  me;  you  must  pronounce  f-i-l-s,  fees.  It's 
an  exception,  you  know." 

"Didn't  I  say  fees?"  asked  Nellie  sweetly.  "It 
was  just  a  slip  of  the  tongue.  Of  course  I  knew 
better.  Now  the  next  sentence:  Tai  voo  tong 
•frere  et  ta  ser!  " 

"I  have  seen  your  brother  and  your  sister." 

"How  perfectly  you  understand  the  French,  Mr. 
Dare !  You  must  feel  right  at  home  in  Paree.  Oh, 
tell  me  about  Paree!  Isn't  it  a  wonderful  city? 
There  must  be  so  many  opportunities  there  to  cul- 
tivate one's  mind!" 

"I  believe  I'd  rather  be  in  Naples  than  anywhere 
else  at  this  moment,"  replied  Dare,  "except  right 
here ;"  and  his  faded  eyes  looked  long  into  the  hazel 
orbs  bent  so  earnestly  upon  him,  until  she  compre- 
hended his  meaning,  blushed  slightly,  and  looked 
down. 

"Tell  me  about  Naples,"  she  murmured. 

Dare  glanced  out  of  the  window.  "This  doesn't 
remind  one  much  of  the  Mediterranean,"  he  sighed. 


THE   HEART   OF   THE   CYNIC      245 

Nellie  dropped  the  exercise  book  into  her  lap  and 
folded  her  hands  over  it.  "Why  not?"  she  asked. 

"Well  principally,  because  this  body  of  water  is 
so  unfriendly  looking.  Sails  are  so  infrequent  on 
it,  for  instance.  The  Mediterranean  is  dotted  so 
thickly  with  sailing  craft,  flitting  here  and  there, 
that  it  seems  to  be  inhabited.  This  Lake  is  wild, 
lonely,  savage.  Moreover,  it  has  no  horizon  as  a 
general  thing,  but  ends  abruptly  in  clouds,  or  smoke, 
or  mist.  Now  that  scene  out  of  the  window  has 
something  about  it  that  reminds  me  of  Dore  or 
Dante." 

There  lay  a  stretch  of  sand,  patched  with  dead 
grass  and  bristling  with  the  stalks  of  last  summer's 
weeds;  in  the  midst  of  it,  one  stunted  tree,  utterly 
bare  of  leaves  and  strangely  twisted  by  the  winds. 
The  telegraph  poles  along  the  drive  resembled  a 
row  of  heathen  crosses.  The  air  was  a  bluish-gray, 
and  the  Lake  as  black  as  ink,  save  where,  over  its 
vast  surface,  the  oncoming  waves  whitened  in  long 
windrows  of  foam. 

Where  the  waves  beat  against  the  breakwater, 
they  leaped  to  an  immense  height,  in  fleeting  watery 
spirals  or  branching  trees  of  spray,  that  bent  in- 
stantly shoreward  and  fell  in  rain  upon  the  walk. 
Two  or  three  sea-gulls,  wild  and  joyous,  disported 
above  the  turbulent  waters,  buoyant  creatures  of 


246      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

the  wind.  Their  slightest  wing-beats  carried  them 
with  far  sweeps  through  the  air,  and  there  was 
something  magical  in  the  way  they  took  form  from 
the  low  clouds  or  were  blotted  out  again.  They 
seemed  to  be  tiny  bits  of  cloud,  blown  loose,  and 
changed  for  a  brief  moment  into  birds. 

"Naples,"  said  the  artist,  and  his  voice  took  on 
a  tender  note;  "ah,  if  we  were  sitting  now  upon 
the  balcony  of  a  little  hotel  upon  the  Posilfpo  in 
the  balmy,  dreamy  air,  with  the  sunny,  light-hearted 
city  below  us — the  ancient  city  of  love  and  poetry — 
and  with"  the  vineyards  above  us.  Yonder  is  the 
Bay  of  Naples,  covered  thick  with  sails,  as  light 
and  fleet  as  birds.  What  does  Read  say?" 

"Opie  Read?"  asked  Nellie.  "Has  he  been  to 
Naples?" 

"No ;  the  poet  Read — Buchanan  Read : 

"My  soul  to-day 

Is  far  away, 
Sailing  the  Vesuvian  bay; 

My  winged  boat, 

*A  bird  afloat, 
Swims  round  the  purple  peaks  remote. 

Round  purple  peaks 

It  sails,  and  seeks 
Blue  inlets  and  their  crystal  creeks. 

Where  high  rocks  throw— throw— 


,THE   HEART   OF   THE   CYNIC      247 

"I  forget  that  stanza.  I  used  to  know  the  whole 
thing  by  heart.  But  I  can  give  the  third  stanza, 
anyway.  Let's  see.  Oh,  yes — 

"Far,  vague,  and  dim 

The  mountains  swim; 
While  on  Vesuvius'  misty  brim, 

With  outstretched  hands, 

The  gray  smoke  stands 
O'erlooking  the  volcanic  lands." 

"OH,  isn't  that  lovely,"  sighed  Nellie.  "So— so 
soulful. 

"Y — es,"  replied  tHe  artist,  "it  does  seem  to 
breathe  the  very  spirit  of  the  scene.  And  if  we 
lift  our  eyes  from  the  bay,  we  see,  sometimes  float- 
ing in  the  very  sky,  so  blue  are  the  waters,  the 
islands  of  Capri  and  Ischia.  And  the  other  side 
of  the  bay  is  skirted  with  white,  straggling  vil- 
lages, in  any  one  of  which  a  man  might  dream  and 
paint  his  life  away.  And  we  must  not  forget  old 
Vesuvius,  lifting  a  huge  black  tree  of  smoke  against 
the  sky  by  day,  and  its  eternal  torch  by  night.  At 
night,  if  we  were  sitting  there  together,  sitting 
there  on  our  balcony,  eh — you  and  I,  we  should  see 
a  festival,  a  carnival,  of  lights ;  the  street  lamps, 
running  in  parallel  rpws2  the  lanterns  flitting  about 


248      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

on  the  bay,  the  groups  and  lines  of  lights  where  the 
fishing  villages  are,  and  the  great,  red,  fierce  eye 
of  Vesuvius,  high  up  against  a  black  wall  of  night." 

Nellie  sat  with  her  pretty  mouth  open,  her  eyes 
glistening. 

"Oh,  how  I  should  like  to  travel !"  she  murmured. 

"Perhaps  your  husband  will  take  you  over  to 
Europe,"  suggested  the  artist,  with  a  sickly  smile. 
"I  should  very  much  like  to  meet  you  over  there. 
I  have  about  decided  to  go  in  the  spring." 

"Oh,  I  should  so  like  to  visit  those  scenes  with 
you,  and  just  look  at  them  while  you  talked!  It 
would  seem  as  if  the  cities  and  mountains  and  all 
those  places,  you  know,  were  just  telling  me  about 
themselves !" 

Dare's  sallow  cheeks  flushed,  and  he  slid  eagerly 
forward  to  the  edge  of  his  chair. 

"But  my  husband  could  never  go.  Old  Blodgett 
goes  away  every  summer,  and  he  doesn't  work  half 
as  hard  as  Harry  does." 

"It  is  surprising  how  much  oftener  the  heads  of 
any  great  firm  need  rest  than  their  employees,"  ob- 
served the  artist,  saved  for  the  moment  by  the 
shadow  of  his  cynical  self.  "Old  Blodgett,"  he  re- 
marked irrelevantly,  "gives  a  great  deal  to  charity, 
doesn't  he?" 


THE   HEART   OF   THE   CYNIC      249 

"So  they  say,"  replied  Nellie,  "but  I  never  actu- 
ally heard  of  any  one  being  helped  by  him." 

"Perhaps  he  is  following  the  scriptural  injunc- 
tion. Perhaps  he  gives  his  alms  so  secretly  that  not 
even  the  poor  find  them  out !" 

Nellie  laughed  her  explosive  little  laugh.  De- 
pendent people  always  enjoy  jokes  at  the  expense 
of  those  whose  bread  they  are  eating.  They  can 
not  help  feeling  that  it  ought  to  be  cake  with  mar- 
malade. 

Dare  noted  his  advantage. 

"Blodgett  is  one  of  those  rich  men  who  die,  and 
people  say,  'What  a  long  funeral !'  "  he  added. 

As  he  arose  at  last  to  go  and  put  on  his  cloak, 
he  pointed  out  of  the  window,  saying : 

"See  how  the  wind  blows !  Notice  that  lone  bi- 
cyclist, beating  against  the  wind,  bent  low  over 
his  wheel.  There,  he  has  got  off.  He  reminds 
me  of  the  last  rose  of  summer — affects  me  the  same 
way.  And  see  that  fat  woman,  sailing  against  the 
wind.  She  walks  fast,  though.  Did  you  ever  ob- 
serve, Mrs.  Nellie — excuse  me,  Mrs.  Chapin — that 
fat  women  always  walk  fast?  They  do  it  to  give 
an  idea  of  sprightliness." 

"It's  rather  too  warm  for  a  sealskin,"  remarked 
Nellie,  with  a  slight  tone  of  envy  in  her  voice. 


250      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"Oh,  a  woman  never  feels  too  warm  in  a  real  seal- 
skin," replied  Dare. 

At  the  door  he  held  Nellie's  plump,  unresisting 
hand  for  two  or  three  minutes,  as  he  tried  to  think 
of  something  else  to  say. 

"Let's  see,"  he  remarked  twice,  "our  next  lesson 
is  Thursday  morning." 

And  Nellie  answered  each  time: 

"We  haven't  studied  much  French  this  morning." 

"That  girl  upstairs,"  he  remarked,  still  holding 
the  hand  and  looking  into  the  hazel  eyes  with  an 
expression  entirely  foreign  to  the  sentiment  on  his 
lips,  "plays  the  piano  according  to  Scripture." 

"How  so?" 

"Her  right  hand  doesn't  know  what  her  left  hand 
doeth." 

"What  a  severe  critic  you  are !  I'm  glad  I  don't 
play.  I  should  be  frightened  to  death  to  play  for 
you." 

"Would  you  be  frightened  of  me?"  he  asked  ten- 
derly, giving  the  hand  a  little  squeeze.  "Do  I  seem 
so  terrible  to  you  ?  Oh,  hear  that  girl !  Musicians 
are  the  only  artists  anyway  that  don't  need  any 
brains." 

"Do  you  think  so?  I  ought  to  make  a  good 
musician,  then." 

"Don't  slander  yourself  so;  I  won't  allow  it," 


THE   HEART   OF   THE   CYNIC      251 

and,  pulling  her  gently  toward  him,  he  attempt- 
ed to  kiss  her.  Nellie  yielded  for  the  briefest  in- 
stant, and  her  red-gold  hair  brushed  against  tiis 
faded  cheek.  Then  she  suddenly  recovered  herself, 
not  angry,  but  frightened,  all  her  early  religious 
training  awakening  like  a  sleeping  watch-dog. 

"You  mustn't,  you  mustn't!"  she  gasped.  "Oh, 
how  dangerous  you  are!"  And  she  pushed  him 
away. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  murmured.  "I  forgot  my- 
self." His  throat  was  so  dry  that  he  could  scarcely 
speak.  "Will  you  forgive  me?" 

"Will  you  promise  never  to  forget  yourself 
again  ?" 

"On  my  word  of  honor." 

"Then  I  forgive  you.  I  believe  you  to  be  a  gen- 
tleman, and  I  so  enjoy  your  society !  It  is  so — so 
improving  to  my  mind." 

"May  I  come  next  Thursday?" 

"Since  I  have  your  promise." 

"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Chapin." 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Dare."  Nellie's  voice  was 
very  low,  and  she  looked  down.  At  the  bottom  of 
the  stairs  Dare  looked  up.  Nellie  was  standing  at 
the  head  of  the  flight. 

"Bon  jour,"  said  the  artist,  lifting  his  hat. 

"Bong  jour,"  replied  Nellie. 


252      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

At  the  corner  Dare  went  into  a  saloon  and  took 
a  drink.  He  was  trembling  like  a  leaf.  He  sat 
down  at  a  table,  ordered  another  drink,  and  re- 
flected, while  he  allowed  his  nerves  to  quiet  down 
and  his  old  heart  to  stop  beating. 

"This  is  dirty  business,"  he  mused.  "That  poor 
devil  of  a  husband  has  such  confidence  in  me.  But 
then,  there's  no  friend  so  true  that  he  won't  tempt 
his  friend's  wife.  Bah !  Am  I  getting  supersti- 
tious? What  shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he  lose  the 
whole  world  and  find  that  he  have  no  soul?  Now 
let  me  see,  let  me  see.  Am  I  getting  all  mixed  up 
with  this  woman,  just  because  her  hair  is  a  reddish 
brown,  her  eyes  a  reddish  hazel,  and  she  has  a 
figure  like  the  Venus  Anadyomene?  No,  I'm  get- 
ting mixed  up  with  her  because  I  can't  stay  away 
from  her,  because  she  goes  all  through  me,  and  be- 
cause she  likes  me.  She  must  have  brains." 

As  he  passed  out  of  the  saloon,  he  stopped  a  mo- 
ment and  looked  in  the  plate-glass  mirror  of  the 
screen.  His  cheeks  were  flushed,  and  his  eyes  were 
unnaturally  bright. 

"Dare,  old  boy,  you're  renewing  your  youth,"  he 
soliloquized  as  he  walked  briskly  down  the  street. 

"  'How  dangerous  you  are ! '  "  he  chuckled.  "I'm 
not  one  of  those  idiots  who  like  everything  good 


THE   HEART   OF   THE   CYNIC      253 

except  women."    And  he  hummed  a  tune,  in  a  fair 
tenor,  a  trifle  cracked : 

"C'est  man  ami,  rendez-le-moi, 
J'ai  son  amour,  il  a  ma  foi!" 

Nellie's  hair  was  ruffled  and  she  stepped  to  the 
glass  to  rearrange  it.  Then,  picking  up  the  French 
exercise  book  again,  she  mechanically  turned  its 
pages  as  she  reviewed  mentally  the  conversation  of 
the  morning,  trying  to  recall  all  the  bright  things 
that  the  artist  had  said.  But  all  of  a  sudden,  as 
she  chanced  to  glance  out  of  the  window  at  the 
bleak  winter  prospect,  one  sentence  of  his  came 
into  her  mind,  and  she  sat  repeating  it  over  and 
over. 

"He  is  going  away  in  the  spring;  he  is  going 
away  in  the  spring." 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  GERMAN  CHRISTMAS 

Nellie  went  away  during  the  Christmas  holidays 
to  spend  a  week  with  her  father  at  the  old  home. 
She  asked  Harry  to  accompany  her.  The  thought 
of  a  visit  to  the  parental  home  made  her  feel  un- 
romantic.  She  had  an  instinctive  desire  to  appear 
before  her  family  and  her  old  neighbors  in  the 
light  of  an  efficient  housewife,  well  married  to  a 
devoted  husband.  She  felt  that  there  would  be 
a  distinct  triumph  in  this.  She  had  left  home  to 
become  a  shop-girl;  she  could  return  the  wife  of 
a  successful  business  man.  She  had  in  her  mind's 
eye  two  or  three  young  ladies  who  would  be  made 
sad  by  her  success.  She  even  planned  the  clothing 
that  she  would  buy  for  Harry  as  well  as  for  herself. 

But  for  once  Harry  asserted  himself.  He  had  a 
secret  horror  that  the  old  man  might  sometime  come 
to  live  with  them,  or  at  least  make  them  a  protract- 
ed visit.  He  was  not  shrewd  enough  to  perceive  that 
Nellie  Herself  was  his  surest  defense  against  any 
254 


A   GERMAN    CHRISTMAS  255 

such  tragedy.  She  would  have  died  of  mortification 
had  she  been  compelled  to  introduce  the  queer  old 
fanatic  who  had  given  her  life,  to  the  elegant  and 
cynical  Mr.  Dare.  The  letters  which  came  from 
time  to  time,  advising  Harry  against  tobacco,  card- 
playing  and  dancing,  were  no  longer  amusing.  Mr. 
Aikin  evidently  labored  under  the  idea  that  his 
daughter  and  son-in-law  were  leading  "butterfly 
lives,"  as  he  expressed  it,  one  long  whirl  of  careless, 
godless  gaiety.  EacK  letter  made  it  more  evident 
that  he  thought  it  his  duty  to  come  on  to  Chicago 
and  straighten  the  young  people  out. 

"When  you  begin  really  to  enjoy  a  thing,"  he 
wrote  again  and  again,  "then's  the  time  to  call  a 
halt.  When  you  find  your  cigars  tasting  pretty 
good,  then  stop  and  think." 

Nellie  wrote  him  that  they  had  stopped  card- 
playing  in  the  house,  and  the  old  gentleman  de- 
voted many  pages  of  congratulation  to  the  subject, 
illustrating  his  thoughts  with  scriptural  quotations. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  Mrs.  Chapin  was  too  absorbed 
in  improving  her  mind  to  waste  her  evenings  play- 
ing cards  with  her  husband,  but  she  knew  how  to 
manage  her  father.  When  he  really  set  his  head 
upon  gaining  a  victory  over  the  powers  of  darkness, 
it  was  necessary  to  let  him  have  his  way. 

Concerning  the  dancing,  it  was  not  so  easy  to 


256      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

satisfy  him,  and  there  was  actual  danger  of  his 
coming  to  them  to  make  sure.  He  also  wished 
to  pin  Harry  down,  personally,  as  to  his  belief  in 
the  lake  of  fire  and  brimstone.  His  son-in-law  had 
never  given  him  a  definite  answer  on  this  point,  and 
the  old  gentleman  had  prepared  a  vast  array  of 
biblical  quotations  which  he  considered  over- 
whelming. 

Harry  refused  to  go  with  so  much  evident  horror 
that  Nellie  let  him  off  with  little  urging.  To  her  he 
pleaded  the  impossibility  of  getting  away,  but  to 
himself  he  muttered : 

"Not  on  your  tintype !  I  can't  stand  for  the  old 
geezer ;  I  won't  stand  for  him.  He's  the  worst 
ever.  I  didn't  marry  the  whole  family." 

After  Nellie  was  gone,  Harry  returned  to  the 
flat  and  tried  to  imagine  that  he  was  single  again. 
The  rooms,  however,  did  not  look  homelike  to  him 
in  the  light  of  reminiscence.  His  old  tobacco  stand 
and  the  few  relics  of  his  bachelor  days  filled  him 
with  melancholy.  Wherever  he  turned  he  found 
evidences  that  he  was  married.  If  he  looked  in  a 
closet  to  see  if  there  was  a  little  spare  change  in 
another  pair  of  trousers,  he  plunged  into  a  dark 
medley  of  feminine  garments,  and  ten  to  one  could 
not  even  find  the  trousers.  There  was  an  illusive 
smell  of  femininity  about  his  bedroom  which  it 


A    GERMAN   CHRISTMAS  257 

would  have  taken  months  to  smoke  out,  and  he  was 
constantly  finding  long,  red-gold  hairs  clinging  to 
the  furniture.  In  his  bachelor  days,  the  discovery 
by  his  landlady  of  a  long  hair  in  his  apartments 
would  have  been  subject  for  much  good-natured 
badinage.  Now  it  was  no  joke.  It  was  a  matter 
of  course,  a  stern,  unromantic  reminder  of  the  fact 
that  he  was  a  married  man  with  responsibilities. 

Once,  after  lighting  the  gas  over  the  table  in  the 
parlor  and  becoming  absorbed  in  George  Ade's 
"Doc  Home,"  he  went  into  the  bedroom  to  look 
for  a  match  on  the  dresser,  and  he  found  a  ring  of 
red-gold  hair,  one  of  those  which  his  wife  twisted 
around  Her  finger  when  performing  her  toilet.  The 
hotel  on  State  Street,  with  its  vividly  drawn  char- 
acters and  the  scenes  that  he  knew  so  well,  van- 
ished in  an  instant,  and  his  wife  seemed  to  be  in  the 
room,  making  her  infinite  preparations  for  bed. 

So  strongly  did  the  voices  of  his  lost  youth  call 
to  him  that  he  would  even  have  flirted  with  the 
servant  girl ;  not  from  any  definite  evil  motives,  but 
simply  to  gratify  a  certain  craving  for  liberty  which 
God  has  planted  in  the  human  breast  and  which 
becomes  a  noble  impulse  when  well  directed. 

But  that  female  was  wrapped  up,  soul  and  body, 
in  the  butcher's  boy,  and  was  taking  advantage  of 
her  mistress's  absence  to  the  fullest  extent.  Harry 


258      THE   LONGTSTRAIGHT   ROAD 

heard  loud  squeals  and  deepjguffaws  coming  from 
the  kitchen  long  after  he  had  gone  to  bed,  and  the 
girl  was  red-eyed  and  disheveled '  by  day.  She 
dumped  his  food  on  -  the  i  table,  either  burned  or 
half-cooked,  and  disappeared,  into '.the*  rear,  of  the 
house.  During  the  progress v of ^eachj meal, 'it  was 
necessary  for  him  to  rise  half  aj dozen,  times  "and 
make  extended  searches  for  the  sal£  for  a  napkin, 
for  spoons. 

Sometimes,  when  the  guffaws  were  too  annoy- 
ing, he  felt  an  impulse  to  invade  the  kitchen  and 
send  her  packing,  but  he  remembered  that  Nellie 
owed  her  for  several  weeks,  and  that  it  was  almost 
impossible  to  get  a  girl  at  any  price. 

He  would  have  liked  to  spend  his  evenings  down 
town,  take  dinner  at  Ma'am  Galli's  or  at  St.  Hu- 
bert's Inn.  But  one  must  have  five  or  ten  dollars 
in  his  pocket  for  a  convivial  evening  at  those  places ; 
and  Harry  had  settled  down  to  the  steady  daily 
allowance  of  the  married  man  on  a  small  salary — 
his  car  fare  to  the  office  and  back,  thirty  cents  for 
his  lunch",  and  ten  cents  for  a  cigar.  It  was  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  limit  the  expenses  this  way,  or 
the  butcher  and  baker  and  candlestick-maker,  peo- 
ple of  immemorial  greed,  would  have  remained  un- 
satisfied. Every  cent  of  his  salary  was  accounted 
for,  and  to  take  five  dollars  out  of  it  any  week 


A   GERMAN   CHRISTMAS  259 

would  be  as  impossible  as  to  steal  it  from  one  of 
Blodgett  and  Blodgett's  commissions. 

On  Christmas  Eve  the  Roths  set  up  a  Christmas 
tree.  Harry  had  been  forewarned  of  the  great 
event  and  he  practised  the  severest  economy  for 
two  weeks,  even  denying  himself  cigars,  that  he 
might  buy  toys.  He  was  more  pinch'ed  financially 
during  his  wife's  absence  than  when  she  was  at 
home,  as  he  found  little  difference  in  the  bills,  and 
she  had  taken  numerous  presents  home  with  her  to 
her  father  and  sisters.  He  lacked  his  wife's 
aplomb,  moreover,  in  the  matter  of  putting  off 
creditors.  When  she  was  at  home,  he  generally 
managed  to  get  out  of  the  way  when  the  doorbell 
rang;  and  Nellie  would  dismiss  the  men  with  the 
bills  with'  all  the  dignity  and  graciousness  of  a  great 
lady.  Now  that  she  was  gone,  the  servant  would 
hunt  him  up,  with,  "There's  a  gintleman  at  the 
dhoor  to  see  ye,"  and  h'e  would  look  into  the  dark 
hall,  standing  first  on  one  leg  and  then  on  the  other, 
profoundly  annoyed  and  embarrassed.  If  he  had 
any  money  in  his  pocket  he  always  gave  it  over 
without  the  least  hesitation.  As  a  single  man,  he 
had  taken  pride  in  paying  promptly  and  in  giving 
the  impression  that  he  was  a  man  of  substance. 

He  managed  to  scrape  together  three  dollars  for 
Christmas  gifts,  and  he  got  his  money  back  ten 


260      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

times  in  childish  joy  as  he  wandered  among  the 
crowded  aisles  of  the  department  stores,  looking  for 
things  to  buy  Fritz,  Bismarck  Goethe  and  Frieda. 
Not  one  should  be  forgotten.  He  would  even  get 
some  little  thing  for  father  and  mother  Roth,  if 
he  could  make  his  money  stretch  far  enough.  Yes, 
old  Roth',  with  his  shaggy  head  and  hairy  face, 
should  not  be  forgotten.  As  he  danced  the  three 
silver  dollars  up  and  down  in  his  pocket,  he  could 
hear  their  faint  jingling,  and  they  rang  a  tender 
chime  of  love  and  peace  and  good  will  to  all  the 
world.  The  thousands  of  fathers  and  mothers  buy- 
ing happiness  for  a  great  army  of  little  ones  were 
his  comrades  in  a  blessed  fellowship.  It  seemed 
that  everybody  on  the  good  Lord's  earth  was  en- 
gaged in  the  holy  work  of  bringing  joy  to  those 
who  were  most  beloved.  As  the  possibilities  of  his 
three  dollars  expanded  his  heart  outgrew  them,  and 
its  wounds  were  healed  with  the  balm  of  Gilead. 
He  no  longer  begrudged  the  twenty  dollars  that  he 
had  given  for  an  ulster  for  the  old  fanatic  father- 
in-law. 

"He's  not  such  a  bad  lot  after  all,"  he  thought, 
as  he  looked  over  a  menagerie  of  lilliputian  ani- 
mals, fuzzy  and  frail.  "If  he  lived  here,  Nell  and 
I  would  invite  him  to  dinner.  A  fellow  ought  to 
get  all  his  folks  together  at  Christmas  time." 


A   GERMAN    CHRISTMAS  261 

He  purchased  some  popcorn  balls  decorated  with 
tinsel,  a  stocking  full  of  candy,  a  tiny  Russian 
poodle,  an  elephant,  some  little  fuzzy  chickens,  two 
packages  of  cracker- jack  and  a  box  at  the  end  of  a 
string  that  made  an  infernal  racket  when  you 
whirled  it.  These  things  cost  him,  all  told,  ninety 
cents  and  made  a  brave  showing.  He  chuckled  as 
he  looked  at  them  and  thought  of  the  pleasure  they 
would  bring  to  the  little  folks. 

He  took  them  home  very  secretly,  slipping  into 
the  house  with  them,  and  arranged  them  on  his 
bureau. 

"Won't  they  show  up  on  the  Christmas  tree, 
though?"  he  laughed.  "You'd  think  there  was  ten 
dollars'  worth  of  stuff  there." 

Every  evening  he  arranged  them  in  groups,  try- 
ing to  decide  how  he  should  distribute  them,  but 
could  come  to  no  satisfactory  conclusion.  At  last 
he  resolved  that  he  would  get  the  mother  to  help 
him  in  this  important  matter. 

"If  I  should  give  something  to  one  little  kid  that 
he  didn't  care  for,  and  the  other  wanted,"  he  mused, 
"I'd  make  one  feel  bad,  and  I  shouldn't  be  doing 
the  other  any  good.  I  wish  I  had  a  kid  of  my  own ; 
then  I'd  know  more  about  such  things." 

Sometimes  the  toys  reminded  him  that  his  own 


262      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

home  was  childless,  and  then  a  sense  of  intolerable 
loneliness  came  over  him. 

Finding  something  that  seemed  appropriate  for 
the  older  persons  was  not  so  easy,  and  he  wandered 
for  many  hours  through  the  stores  before  he  finally 
came  to  a  decision.  For  grandpa  Roth  he  at  last 
selected  a  briar  pipe,  for  which  he  paid  fifty  cents ; 
and  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Roth  he  .purchased  a  joint 
gift — a  decorated  beer  stein,  bearing  the  legend : 

"Alte  Thaler,  junge  Weiber 
Sind  die  besten  Zeitvertreiber." 

One  dollar  and  ten  cents  he  paid  for  the  stem; 
and  he  was  now  confronted  with  the  problem  of 
buying  with  fifty  cents  a  gift  for  a  young  lady.  He 
was  nearly  reduced  to  despair,  when  a  large  assort- 
ment of  showy  articles  marked  "Sterling  Silver" 
chanced  to  catch  his  eye.  To  his  surprise,  he  found 
the  attached  prices  remarkably  low,  and  Miss  Eva- 
lina  became  the  prospective  owner  of  a  paper-knife 
with  a  silver  handle.  He  could  not  remember  that 
the  young  lady  ever  read  anything,  but  many  Christ- 
mas presents  are  bought  that  are  of  little  use  to 
their  recipients.  It  is  the  good  will  which  goes 
with  them  that  is  the  most  precious  thing  in  the 
world. 


A.  IGERMAN^  CHRISTMAS  263 

Harry  went  to  the  flat  above  after  dinner  on 
Christmas  Eve  and  waited  impatiently  for  the  chil- 
dren to  go  to  bed.  Fritz  was  old  enough  now  to 
understand  that  there  was  something  in  the  air, 
and  he  refused  point  blank  to  retire  when  eight 
o'clock,  his  customary  hour,  struck. 

"Old  Santa  Claus  won't  come  near  the  house  if 
he  happens  to  peek  in  and  find  you  up  yet,"  remon- 
strated his  mother.  "He  only  brings  things  to 
good  boys." 

"I  don't  care,"  pouted  Fritz,  edging  behind  a 
big  chair  into  a  corner. 

"I  believe  he  suspects  something,"  whispered 
Mrs.  Roth  to  Harry. 

"He's  on  to  us,  I'll  bet  a  hat,"  assented  Harry. 

"Fritz,"  said  his  father  sternly,  "you  go  right  to 
bed,  or  I'll — "  but  his  wife  put  her  arm  over  his 
shoulder  and  murmured,  "Don't  scold  the  boy, 
Liebchen;  'tis  Christmas  Eve;"  and  he  kissed  her, 
saying,  "And  the  dear  Christ  child  comes  into  our 
hearts  to-night,  eh?" 

"Let's  pay  no  attention  to  him,  and  he'll  get 
sleepy,"  suggested  the  mother;  and  Roth,  sitting 
down  at  the  piano,  sang,  "Just  a  Song  at  Twilight." 
They  all  kept  their  eyes  furtively  fixed  on  the  little 
fellow,  who  wandered  about  the  room  for  a  few  mo- 


264      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

ments,  and  two  or  three  times  stopped  to  look  up 
the  shallow  grate  meant  for  hard  coal. 

"Get  on  to  him,"  whispered  Harry,  poking  grand- 
pa Roth  with  his  elbow. 

Oh,  poor  little  modern  children !  peeping  into  gas 
and  coal  grates  and  wondering  early,  so  early  in 
your  lives,  how  Santa  Claus  manages  it.  Your 
fathers  and  grandfathers  hung  their  stockings  a-row 
above  a  spacious  fireplace,  through  which  fancy 
drove  her  reindeer  teams  for  many  and  many  a 
happy  year.  God  keep  us  all,  His  children,  from 
being  disillusionized  too  early  and  too  much ! 

Grandpa  Roth  played  softly  a  German  lullaby, 
and  Fritz,  standing  by  his  mother's  side,  laid  his 
flaxen  head  in  her  lap  and  went  to  sleep. 

She  picked  him  up,  big  boy  that  he  had  grown  to 
be,  with  long  limp  legs  dangling  nearly  to  the  floor, 
and  carried  him  off  to  bed. 

"Didn't  I  told  you  so?"  asked  the  old  man  tri- 
umphantly, turning  quickly  upon  the  piano  stool 
and  shaking  his  forefinger  at  the  closed  door. 
"Music — ah,  the  strong  power  of  music!" 

Harry  went  down  and  got  his  presents,  and  Roth 
brought  in  the  Christmas  tree  from  the  store-room 
down  in  the  basement. 

"Let's  set  it  in  the  window,"  suggested  Harry, 
pouring  his  gifts  upon  a  sofa.  "It'll  look  fine  from 


A   GERMAN    CHRISTMAS  265 

the  street.  Lots  o'  times,  when  I  didn't  have  any 
home  of  my  own,  I've  wandered  around  on  Christ- 
mas looking  at  the  trees  in  the  windows.  It  did  me 
good  to  know  that  other  folks  were  having  them, 
even  if  I  wasn't." 

"All  right,"  said  Roth,  bringing  a  small  table, 
from  which  he  had  removed  a  large  fancy  lamp. 
"In  the  window  it  shall  be." 

But  his  wife  touched  him  on  the  arm,  and  said 
with  tears  in  her  soft  voice : 

"Nein,  mein  Schatz.  Think  of  the  little  children 
who  have  no  Christmas  trees.  They  might  see  it 
and  feel  bad." 

So  they  put  it  up  in  the  middle  of  the  front  par- 
lor, and  hung  it  with  glass  balls  and  with  wax 
angels,  and  they  filled  its  green  branches  with  tiny 
candles.  Wonderful  indeed  was  the  fruit  which 
began  to  grow  upon  that  tree,  fruit  sown  in  the 
soil  of  love  and  watered  with  the  tears  of  joy : — for 
Fritz,  a  wagon,  a  tin  sword,  a  whistle  and  a  spring 
gun ;  and  for  Bismarck  Goethe,  a  jack-in-a-box,  a 
big  colored  ball  and  a  box  of  wooden  soldiers.  Har- 
ry's contributions  made  a  brave  showing,  and  it  was 
with  no  little  pride  that  he  tied  them  on  the  tree. 
Once,  hearing  a  slight  noise,  as  he  thought,  he  tip- 
toed to  the  bedroom  door,  opened  it  softly  and 
peeped  in. 


266      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"Sh — all  sleeping  as  tight  as  mice,"  he  explained 
in  a  stage  whisper  as  he  returned.  "I  thought  that 
young  rascal  was  rubbering." 

Harry  had  tied  his  gifts  for  the  older  people  up 
in  neat  packages  and  written  their  names  on  them. 
They  pretended  not  to  see  him  as  he  hung  up  the 
little  bundles. 

A  rocking-horse  and  two  or  three  paper  boxes, 
too  large  to  be  suspended  from  branches,  were  set 
on  the  floor  by  the  legs  of  the  table.  Then  they  lit 
the  candles,  and  went  back  to  the  bedroom  door 
to  observe  the  effect  from  there.  Old  grandpa 
Roth  pronounced  it  "wunderschon;"  and  father 
Roth  cradled  his  wife's  chin  in  his  big  pink  Hand, 
saying,  "Won't  that  make  the  little  ones  to  be 
happy,  eh?" 

"What  time  do  the  little  fellers  wake  up  in  the 
morning  ?"  asked  Harry,  as  he  took  his  leave  for  the 
night. 

"They'll  wake  up  pretty  early  to-morrow," 
laughed  Mrs.  Roth. 

"Don't  you  forget  to  call  me,"  Ke  admonished 
earnestly;  "I  wouldn't  miss  it  for  a  house  and  lot. 
And  say,  don't  you  let  them  out  of  the  bedroom 
till  I  come  up." 

They  promised  him,  and  he  returned  to  his  lone- 
ly home.  He  did  not  get  to  sleep  until  a  late  hour, 


A   GERMAN    CHRISTMAS  267 

as  Bridget  was  holding  a  soiree  in  the  kitchen. 
One  of  her  guests  had  brought  a  harmonica,  and 
another  a  concertina. 

He  awoke  early,  nevertheless,  in  time  to  hear  the 
milkman  go  by  on  the  walk  below,  with  a  rattling  of 
cans  astonishing  when  one  takes  into  consideration 
his  implements  of  noise.  Mrs.  Roth  jumped  out  of 
bed  and  ran  to  the  back  of  the  house  with  the  one- 
time stolen  bottle  in  her  mind. 

"That'll  wake  'em,"  cried  Harry;  and  he  was 
right,  for  in  a  very  short  time  Roth  came  down- 
stairs and  knocked  at  his  door. 

"You  must  excuse  our  appearance,"  he  said,  as  he 
led  the  way  up  the  dark  stairs.  "My  wife  has  had 
no  time  her  toilet  to  make.  You  shall  help  me  to 
light  the  candles,"  he  announced,  as  they  entered 
the  parlor. 

Soon  the  wonderful  tree  was  casting  its  soft 
radiance  over  the  dim  room,  for  the  curtains  were 
drawn,  and  the  happy  father  knocked  at  the  bed- 
room door.  There  was  a  shout  from  within,  and 
Fritz  broke  forth  and  ran  half-way  to  the  tree  in 
his  flannel  pajamas,  then  stopped,  his  hands  clasped, 
his  mouth  open,  gazing  in  wonder.  Mrs.  Roth 
came  next,  somewhat  disheveled,  attired  in  a 
morning  wrapper.  She  was  carrying  Bismarck 
Goethe  in  her  arms.  He  gasped  several  times,  and 


268      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

his  eyes  shone  so  they  could  be  seen  in  the  dark. 
Unable  at  first  to  speak,  he  gave  vent  to  his  emotion 
by  repeating,  "Ts,  ts,  ts,"  pointing  with  chubby 
fingers.  At  last  he  shouted,  "Santa  Claus  didn't 
beget.  Mama,  Santa  Claus  didn't  beget!" 

Grandpa  Roth  distributed  the  gifts,  reading  the 
names  in  a  loud  voice,  with  the  aid  of  an  enormous 
pair  of  old-fashioned  spectacles.  Bismarck  Goethe 
interrupted  frequently,  shouting,  "Oh,  see  the  sick- 
ens, see  the  sickens,"  for  Harry's  toy  chickens  had 
taken  his  eye.  Soon  Fritz  was  riding  the  wooden 
horse  furiously,  and  his  brother  was  seated  on  the 
floor  pulling  the  soldiers  out  of  their  box. 

"Mr.  Henry  Chapin,"  called  the  old  man,  lifting 
a  large  package  from  the  table. 

"That's  my  name,"  replied  Harry ;  "but  see  here, 
now ;  this  is  too  much — I — I — " 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Victor  Roth !"  proceeded  the  old 
man,  playfully  shouting  him  down.  Harry  opened 
his  bundle,  and  found  therein  a  gaudy  smoking 
jacket  made  and  embroidered  by  Mrs.  Roth's  own 
hands. 

"This  shall  be  a  loafing  cup,"  said  Roth,  standing 
with  his  arm  about  his  wife  and  holding  up  the  beer- 
mug,  "and  you  shall  with  us  to-day  dine,  and  we 
shall  all  drink  from  it  German  champagne." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 


A    GERMAN    CHRISTMAS  269 

"Maybe  it's  Santa  Claus,"  cried  Fritz,  for  the 
moment  freed  of  all  doubt. 

It  was  Harry's  servant. 

"The  missus  said  I  wuz  to  give  ye  this  on  Christ- 
mas mornin',"  she  announced,  handing  Harry  a 
little  package. 

"It's  a  present  from  your  wife,"  chorused  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Roth ;  "now  the  day  is  complete."  Harry 
received  a  flat  package,  tied  with  a  pink  ribbon,  and 
marked : 

"For  my  dear  husband." 

He  opened  it  and  found  one  of  Maeterlinck's 
plays,  done  into  English. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

ANOTHER    CALCULATION 

Not  long  after  Nellie's  return,  she  consented 
to  go  sleigh-riding  with  the  Magnate,  behind 
his  new  team  of  blacks.  To  do  her  justice,  she 
accepted  the  invitation  with  some  little  misgiv- 
ings as  to  tKe  propriety,  and  even  consulted  her 
husband  on  the  matter.  Harry  felt  flattered,  and 
told  her  to  go  along  and  enjoy  herself.  He  had 
no  fears  as  to  Murchison  anyhow,  as  his  estimate 
of  the  Magnate's  character  was  derived  from  Roth's 
frequent  expressions  of  admiration  and  gratitude. 
The  splendid  blacks  caused  a  great  stir  in  the  neigh- 
borhood as  they  were  driven  up  to  the  door  with  a 
merry  jingling  of  golden  bells  that  ended  in  a  sud- 
den melodious  crash  as  the  horses  were  brought  to 
a  stop.  More  than  one  gossip's  face  was  pressed 
to  a  window  pane. 

Nellie  was  at  the  window  ready,  and  she  came 
tripping  down  the  stairs,  veiled,  and  wearing  a 
long  automobile  coat,  with  a  fur  collar  about  her 
270 


ANOTHER   CALCULATION  271 

neck.  Murchison  threw  back  the  lap-robe,  she 
stepped  in ;  and  they  were  off  with  an  unexpected 
leap  of  the  powerful  team,  which  soon  settled  down 
to  a  grand  stride  that  made  the  fine  snow  smoke 
about  the  cutter  runners.  The  bells  were  chiming 
now  with  a  rhythmic  cadence,  and  the  silver-mounted 
harness  danced  on  the  sleek,  firm  backs  of  the 
glorious  animals. 

"I  bought  'em  of  Jerry  Fiske,"  explained  Murchi- 
son as  they  flew  down  the  Lake  Shore  Drive.  "Do 
you  know  Jerry  ?" 

"I — I  have  heard  of  him,"  prevaricated  Nellie, 
"but  I  do  not  know  him  personally." 

"Board  of  Trade  man — what  they  call  an  eightK 
chaser — deals  in  fractions,  you  know,  half,  quarter, 
three-eighths,  even  money.  I  knew  Jerry  when  He 
hadn't  a  cent.  Came  here  from  Kansas  City,  and 
asked  me  for  a  job.  I  didn't  give  it  to  him.  Now 
Ke  owns  a  fine  stable  of  horses  and  a  house  on  the 
Lake  Shore  Drive." 

"How  interesting!"  gasped  Nellie.  The  horses 
were  going  so  fast  that  she  could  scarcely  get  her 
breath. 

"Tom  Collins,"  observed  Murchison;  "do  you 
know  Tom?" 

"No,  I  never  heard  of  him,"  replied  Nellie  truth- 
fully. 


' 


272      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"His  father  was  an  old-timer ;  made  a  million  in 
lumber,  and  built  that  big  house  just  before  you 
come  to  the  turn  in  the  road  up  here.  I'll  show 
it  to  you.  Tom  says  that  the  white  stocking  on 
the  off  horse's  right  hind-foot  would  be  an  eye- 
sore to  him.  He  says  that  if  it  wasn't  for.  that 
they  would  be  the  most  perfectly  matched  team  he 
ever  saw." 

Nellie  leaned  over  the  dashboard  and  looked. 

"I  don't  see  any  stocking,"  she  said. 

"There  it  is,"  explained  Murchison,  laughing  and 
pointing  with  his  whip.  "I  mean  that  bit  of  white 
color  on  the  hock.  Steady,  boys ;  steady.  Steady, 
you  rascals." 

The  nervous,  high-strung  animals,  seeing  the 
motion  of  the  whip,  leaped  forward  with  tremendous 
bounds,  and  the  light  cutter  tipped  upon  one  runner 
as  it  took  the  corner  at  the  end  of  this  part  of 
the  drive. 

"I  met  Tom  the  first  time  I  was  out  with  them," 
continued  the  Magnate,  still  sawing  on  the  reins. 
"He  was  coming  down  the  drive  with  his  automo- 
bile; and  the  rascals  whirled  square  around  with 
me  and  ran  for  three  miles  before  I  could  get  them 
under  control  again.  Lucky  I  had  them  in  the  cutter 
and  not  the  carriage." 

Nellie  did  not  feel  afraid.    There  was  some- 


ANOTHER   CALCULATION          273 

thing  in  this  forceful  man's  absolute  confidence  in 
himself  that  left  no  doubt  of  his  ability  to  manage 
a  team  of  horses.  He  was  evidently  used  to  having 
his  own  way.  They  passed  bumping  over  some 
street-car  tracks,  and  raced  through  a  region  of 
wooden  homes  more  or  less  pretentious  and  dis- 
playing a  medley  of  many  and  mixed  styles  of 
architecture.  In  every  vacant  lot  there  were  from 
one  to  three  "For  Sale"  signs,  bearing  the  names  of 
prominent  real  estate  dealers  and  many  of  them 
announcing  that  easy  terms  would  be  given  or  that 
money  would  be  loaned  for  building.  Soon  they 
had  the  Lake  again  on  their  right  and  a  long  row 
of  palaces  on  their  left.  Nellie  looked  admir- 
ingly at  these,  and  her  companion  told  her  the 
names  of  their  owners.  Some  were  square  and 
solid-looking,  with  porches  supported  by  severely 
simple  pillars ;  some  were  constructed  of  rough 
brown  stones  whose  size  and  irregularity  were  sug- 
gestive of  a  study  of  Mycenaean  architecture ;  others 
were  made  of  white  glazed  bricks ;  and  still  others 
were  of  pressed  brownstone  in  front  while  the  re- 
maining portions  were  of  cheap,  common  brick. 
There  was  no  unity  or  harmony  in  the  general  effect, 
such  as  one  sees  in  the  show  streets  of  foreign  cities 
whose  people  are  of  artistic  temperament.  The 
whole  drive  testified  to  the  independence  of  the 


274      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

great  American  mind,  and  to  tKe  power  of  money 
gained  and  spent  before  the  finer  perceptions  have 
had  time  to  develop.  If  there  was  any  consensus 
of  opinion  indicated  anywhere,  any  expression  of 
a  national  spirit,  it  lay  in  the  prevalence  of  towers 
and  turrets.  But  these  did  not  contribute  in  the 
least  to  harmony  of  effect,  for  they  were  of  many 
different  designs,  and  were  attached  to  structures 
to  which  they  seemed  to  have  been  glued  on  as  an 
afterthought. 

Murchison  explained  to  Nellie  How  the  owners 
of  these  expensive  dwellings  had  made  their  money, 
and  it  all  seemed  so  easy.  As  the  palaces  slid  by, 
she  heard  the  whole  history  of  years  of  struggle, 
phenomenal  luck,  Aladdin-like  success,  wolf-like 
rapacity,  dismissed  in  a  few  seconds.  This  had 
been  mines,  that  speculation,  this  pork,  that  rail- 
roads, this  contracts,  that  real  estate.  The  resi- 
dence of  the  "eighth-chaser"  was  as  fine  as  any. 
Nellie  mentally  computed  that  there  were  eight- 
eighths  to  a  dollar,  and  she  wondered  how  many  of 
them  a  man  would  need  to  chase  and  capture  before 
he  could  live  in  such  a  house  as  that.  Harry,  she 
reflected,  must  be  very  stupid  to  remain  so  poor 
when  he  could  acquire  unlimited  wealth  by  the  sim- 
ple process  of  chasing  eighths. 
:  The  horses  were  now  swinging  along  at  a  steady 


ANOTHER   CALCULATION  275 

gait,  curving  tHeir  necks  and  bodies  gracefully  as 
they  shied  frequently  to  the  right  or  the  left.  At 
the  rough  places  in  the  road  the  cutter  bounded  and 
came  down  again  with  a  sliding  jolt.  The  motion 
was  most  exhilarating,  and  Nellie  began  to  feel 
ravenously  hungry.  When  they  came  at  last  to 
a  roadhouse  several  miles  out,  Murchison  proposed 
that  they  stop  for  refreshments,  and  she  assented 
without  demur. 

They  took  seats  a£  a  table  in  a  large  but  well- 
warmed  room,  the:  only  other  occupants  of  which 
were  two  women  in  sealskins,  drinking  cocktails. 

This  sight  was  rather  a  sKock  to  Nellie,  whose 
puritan  instincts  immediately  bristled,  and  she 
looked  apprehensively  about.  The  size  of  the  room 
and  its  publicity,  However,  reassured  her.  Murchi- 
son, after  much  discussion  with  the  waiter,  ordered 
munificently.  He  was  indignant  that  there  were 
no  prairie  chickens,  but  consoled  himself  witK  the 
reflection  that  three-quarters  of  an  hour  would  have 
been  required  to  get  them  ready.  There  was  cham- 
pagne on  the  ice,  whicK  was  brought  on  imme- 
diately, with  the  "little-necks." 

"Of  course,"  apologized  the  Magnate,  after  giv- 
ing minute  directions  as  to  the  chicken  salad,  "we 
could  not  hope  to  get  anything  but  an  informal 
lunch  at  this  time  of  the  day." 


276      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"Do  you  see  much  of  Mrs.  Kimball-Smith,"  asked 
Nellie,  tasting  her  champagne  daintily. 

Murchison  laughed,  familiarly  and  caressingly 
sipping  the  keen  liquid  from  under  his  gray  mus- 
tache. 

"I  haven't  looked  her  up,"  he  replied.  "I  had 
forgotten  all  about  her.  She  isn't  my  style  at  all. 
I  like  a  more  intelligent  sort  of  woman ;  and  when 
they  combine  beauty  with  intelligence" — here  he 
fixed  his  shrewd  eyes  upon  those  of  his  companion 
boldly  and  admiringly — "I  find  myself  entirely  hors 
de  combat" 

"Do  you  speak  French,  Mr.  Murchison?"  in- 
quired Nellie  eagerly. 

"Oh,  yes,  a  little.  I  am  in  Paris  frequently.  We 
— ah — we  are  thinking  of  doing  business  over 
there." 

"Oh,  how  delightful !  I  am  studying  French, 
and  I  speak  it  very  well.  My  accent,  my  teacher 
says,  is  particularly  good.  Usually  Americans  can 
not  master  the  true  Parisian  accent.  French,  as 
spoken  by  foreigners,  is  a  sort  of  Volapuk.  You 
can  get  along  with  it  in  any  part  of  the  world. 
Even  the  French  themselves  can  understand  it, 
though,  of  course,  it's  not  proper  French  at  all." 

"You  ought  to  travel,"  observed  the  Magnate. 
"A  cultured  woman  like  you  needs  only  one  thing 


ANOTHER   CALCULATION          277 

to  make  her  perfect,  so  'far  as  education  is  con- 
cerned. Do  you  know,  I  fancy  you  must  lead  a 
sort  of  lonely  life.  Your  Husband  is  gone,  of 
course,  all  day,  and  he  is  interested  in  his  business. 
Why,  I  don't  believe  you  even  have  companionship 
of  your  own — ah — mental  stature.  Those  club 
women  are  none  of  them  as  bright  as  you  are !" 

"Now  don't  flatter."  But  she  was  secretly  grati- 
fied; for  the  opinion  confirmed  an  idea  of  Nellie's, 
long  nurtured,  that  she  had  outgrown  the  little  hero- 
worshiping  circle  to  which  she  belonged,  and  that 
it  was  time  for  her  to  join  one  of  the  powerful  wom- 
an's clubs  that  were  actually  doing  things — one  of 
those  she  saw  mentioned  in  the  papers  as  discussing 
such  questions  as,  "What  shall  we  do  with  our 
aged?"  "How  shall  we  clean  our  streets?"  "Are 
men  naturally  carnivorous?" 

"Take  some  more  champagne,"  urged  the  Mag- 
nate, attempting  to  replenish  Nellie's  glass,  from 
whicK  she  had  sipped  the  least  possible  amount: 

"Oh,  my,  no !"  she  cried,  pulling  her  glass  away 
and  covering  it  with  her  hand.  "Why,  my  people 
are  all  temperance.  What  would  the  folks  out 
home  think  of  me  if  they  saw  me  drinking  wine? 
It's  dreadfully  wicked,  but  I'm  going  to  taste  a 
little  of  it,  just  for  a  lark." 

"It  will  do  you  good,"  insisted  the  Magnate. 


278      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"No?  Not  a  drop  more?"  He  was  disappointed 
that  sHe  did  not  take  kindly  to  the  champagne. 

"I  often  think  of  you,"  he  continued  tenderly. 
"Do  you  know,  frankly,  you  are  a  magnificent  wom- 
an, fit  to  grace  a  palace.  You  ought  to  be  moving 
in  the  very  best  social  circles.  You  should  have 
married  a  millionaire.  It  would  be  some  satisfaction 
to  buy  clothes  for  a  woman  like  you.  By  God, 
you'd  look  superb  in  full  evening  dress,  brought 
from  Paris,  with  ropes  of  pearls  or  diamonds,  or 
something  of  that  sort,  about  your  neck!  Take 
some  more  champagne,  Mrs.  Chapin;  it's  perfectly 
innocent." 

"You — you  mustn't  use  such  language,"  gasped 
Nellie,  strangely  excited  and  carried  away,  despite 
herself,  by  her  companion's  eloquence,  and  the  pict- 
ure of  herself  in  a  Paris  gown,  bedecked  with  dia- 
monds and  moving  witK  the  stately  step  which  she 
so  well  knew,  beneath  the  brilliance  of  electric 
chandeliers.  Her  cheeks  flushed,  and  her  eyes 
glistened. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Magnate,  "but  I 
can't  control  myself  when  I  think  of  our  society 
women,  and  know  that  such  a  splendid  creature  as 
you  must  be  relegated  to  obscurity.  Why,  you'd 
be  the  rage!  Your  intelligence,  culture,  and  wit, 


ANOTHER   CALCULATION          279 

too,  fit  you  for  moving  in  the  highest  circles.  Now 
pardon  me,  but  I'm  so  interested  in  you — take  some 
more  champagne — no?  I  don't  believe  that  you 
have  any  companions  of  your  own  grade.  Do  you  ? 
I  can  change  all  that,  if  you'll  put  yourself  under  my 
patronage." 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Nellie,  stiffening  slightly ;  "we 
know — " 

"Now  pray  don't  be  offended.  I  wouldn't  offend 
you  for  the  world.  Please  take  this  in  the  spirit  in 
which  it  is  intended." 

"Oh,  I  do ;  I  do.  But  really  we  know  some  of 
the  best  people  in  the  city.  Senator  Joseph  Chapin 
is  my  husband's  uncle,  and  he  calls  on  us  when  he 
comes  to  town.  Why,  we  dine  nearly  every  Sun- 
day at  the  Crisseys'.  Alderman  Crissey,  you  know. 
He  is  one  of  our  most  famous  lawyers.  My  hus- 
band and  he  were  school-fellows  together.  Do  you 
know  Mr.  Crissey,  Mr.  Murchison?" 

The  Magnate  smiled  in  a  sardonic  way.  "Yes,  I 
know  him,"  he  replied  dryly. 

"Don't  you  think  he's  a  handsome  man?  All  tHe 
women  of  the  club  are  just  wild  over  him.  He 
looked  so  noble  when  he  was  lecturing  to  us  the 
other  night." 

"Here  are  the  clams,"  observed  tKe  Magnate. 


28o      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"Waiter,  where's  the  tabasco  sauce  ?  Eh  ?"  he  asked 
with  a  suggestion  of  a  sneer,  "are  you  also  wild 
over  this  paragon?" 

Nellie,  with  a  woman's  quick  instinct  in  such  mat- 
ters, divined  that  Murchison  did  not  like  Crissey. 
She  thought  tHat  the  Magnate  was  jealous,  and  she 
could  not  resist  indulging  in  a  little  of  woman's 
natural  sport. 

"I  think  Mr.  Crissey  is  a  very  Handsome  man," 
she  replied,  looking  down.  "So  distinguished 
looking." 

"Umph,  yes,  very  distinguished  for  a  shyster 
lawyer.  And  I  suppose  he  reciprocates  the  ad- 
miration— has  told  you  in  his  pompous  way  that  you 
are  beautiful?"  he  asked  brutally,  spitefully  spear- 
ing a  clam. 

Nellie  enjoyed  this  immensely. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Crissey  isn't  at  all  pompous  in  sucK 
matters,"  she  replied  equivocally,  actually  blushing 
at  the  prevarication.  \ 

The  Magnate's  shrewd  gray  eyes  contracted  with 
hate.  A  slight  pallor  crept  over  his  face  at  the 
thought  that  this  man  had  again  crossed  his  path, 
and  Ke  was  silent  for  some  time. 

But  at  last  a  happy  thought  struck  him,  and  his 
cheeks  flushed  with  excitement.  "I'll  plow  with 
this  heifer/'  he  said  to  himself  contemptuously. 


ANOTHER   CALCULATION  281 

"Here's  the  salad  at  last,"  he  cried  cheerfully. 
"Let  me  help  you.  There,  that's  a  square  deal." 

"Oh,  you've  given  me  more  than  Half." 

"No,  just  even  Steven.  Now  let  me  fill  your 
wine  glass — just  another  sip  witH  tKe  salad.  It's 
as  innocent  as  cider." 

The  two  women  in  sealskins  passed  out,  looking 
t>oldly  and  curiously  at  the  Magnate  and  his  com- 
panion. They  were  matrons  and  stout.  Their 
faces  were  flushed,  and  one  of  them  staggered  a 
little.  As  they  disappeared  through  the  door  their 
voices  were  heard  unnaturally  loud.  Nellie  shud- 
dered and  determined  not  to  drink  another  drop. 

"How  would  you  like  to  work  for  my  company?" 
suddenly  asked  Murchison,  leaning  back  in  his  chair 
and  regarding  Nellie  frankly. 

"Work  for  your  company?"  she  asked  in  much 
wonderment. 

"Certainly.  Big  pay,  easy  work.  A  sort  of  con- 
fidential agent,  you  know.  We  need  some  one  like 
you.  Every  big  company  has  such  a  woman  in  its 
employ,  when  it  can  find  one." 

"WKat  could  I  do?" 

She  was  piqued,  for  the  proposition  suggested 
type-writing  or  something  of  that  nature. 

"Will  you  regard  this  talk  as  confidential  ?" 


'282      THE   LONG  STRAIGHT  ROAD 

"Why  certainly,  if  you  wish  it." 

"I  do  wish  it,  for  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  expose 
to  you  some  of  the  inmost  secrets  of  our  way  of 
doing  business;  and  you  may  accept  or  not,  as 
you  please.  Though  to  tell  you  the  truth,  there  is 
scarcely  a  society  woman  in  town  who  wouldn't 
jump  at  what  I  am  going  to  propose  to  you." 

"I'll  never  breathe  a  word  to  any  one,"  promised 
Nellie,  wKose  curiosity  was  now  thoroughly 
aroused. 

"Well,  did  you  ever  hear  of  a  lobbyist  ?" 

"Ye-es,  though  I  don't  know  exactly  what  they 
do.  Is  it  quite  respectable?" 

"Respectable?  Why,  in  Europe  and  at  Wash- 
ington it's  the  sort  of  thing  that  princesses  do." 

"But  I'm  no  princess,  Mr.  Murchison." 

"No,  you're  a  queen,  and  wittier  and  more 
beautiful  than  any  princess  I  ever  saw.  Let  me 
put  a  little  more  vinegar  on  your  salad ;  it's  sort  of 
tasteless.  There,  see  if  that  doesn't  improve  it. 
Now  let  me  explain  wHat  your  first  commission 
would  be.  You  can  begin  right  here.  We  are 
trying  to  get  an  extension  of  our  telephone  fran- 
chise— I'm  interested  in  the  telephone  company,  you 
know.  It  rests  with  the  board  of  aldermen  to 
grant  us  this.  Now  this  man  Crissey  hates  me, 
and  keeps  voting  against  us  for  that  reason.  It's 


ANOTHER   CALCULATION          283 

a  purely  personal  matter  between  him  and  me. 
What  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  get  him  to  vote  for 
us.  If  you  succeed  you'll  be  doing  him  a  good 
turn  as  well  as  us.  We  want  to  get  on  a  sound 
basis  that  will  let  us  know  where  we  are.  Then 
we'll  feel  like  putting  more  money  into  the  business 
and  can  give  the  people  better  service  and  cheaper 
rates.  If  we  can  get  this  extension,  we  can  make 
a  five  cent  tariff  for  all  public  telephones  immediate- 
ly. To  vote  for  this  ordinance  will  be  doing  a  pub- 
lic service,  and  will  make  Crissey  himself  more 
popular  and  will  help  him  along  politically.  Do 
you  follow  me?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Nellie.  "But  How  I  could  make 
him  vote  any  way?  He's  a  man  with  a  mind  of 
his  own." 

"Oh,  you  know !"  laughed  Murchison.  "Women 
have  ways  of  getting  things — especially  when  they 
are  as  handsome  as  you  are — and  when  the  man  in 
question  knows  that  they  are  handsome." 

Nellie's  face  suddenly  flamed. 

"I  think  I  had  better  be  going  now,"  she  said 
huskily. 

"No,  no;  sit  down  a  moment.  You  don't  Have 
to  compromise  yourself  in  any  way.  A  shrewd 
woman  like  you  knows  how  to  be  sweet  and  to  get 
a  man  to  do  anything  she  asks  without  actually 


284      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD, 

compromising  herself  or  even  tarnishing  her  repu- 
tation. Just  get  Crissey  to  be  a  little  sweet  on  you, 
and  he'll  do  anything  you  want,  for — for  hopes. 
The  hopes  needn't  materialize,  you  know,"  he 
laughed.  "What  would  you  rather  have  than  any- 
thing else  in  the  world?  Just  name  your  price, 
and  I'll  see  that  you  get  it.  Let  me  see;  what 
would  you  say  to  a  trip  to  Europe  for  a  year,  all 
expenses  paid — a  liberal  allowance?  We  were  say- 
ing a  while  ago  that  that's  just  what  you  need  to 
complete  your  education.  You  could  live  for  six 
months  in  Paris.  You'd  speak  French  like  a  native 
when  you  returned." 

The  thought  of  Dare  swooped  down  upon  Nellie, 
and  she  remembered  that  he  was  going  away  in 
the  spring.  She  grew  faint  for  a  moment  with  a 
superhuman  longing,  and  the  bare  room  with  its 
wooden  tables  vanished  from  her  consciousness; 
in  their  places  she  saw  the  Bay  of  Naples,  the  fish- 
ing villages  where  a  man  might  paint  and  dream 
for  a  life-time,  and  the  purple  islands  of  Capri  and 
Ischia.  She  heard  again  the  words : 

"And  we  must  not  forget  old  Vesuvius,  lifting  its 
huge  black  tree  of  smoke  against  the  sky  by  day, 
and  its  eternal  torch  by  night.  And  at  night,  if 
we  were  sitting  there  together,  you  and  I,  on  our 
balcony,  we  should  see  a  festival,  a  carnival  of 


ANOTHER   CALCULATION          285 

lights;  the  street  lamps,  running  in  parallel  rows, 
the  lanterns  flitting  about  on  the  bay,  the  groups 
and  lines  of  lights  where  the  fishing  villages  are — " 

Harry  was  so  slangy  and  cared  so  little  for  the 
higher  life!  Besides,  she  would  not  do  anything 
really  bad.  She  would  leave  him  his  whole  salary 
to  enjoy  himself  with  in  his  own  way,  and  would 
come  back  to  him  at  the  end  of  the  year. 

"Do  you  think  I  could  do  it  ?"  she  faltered.  "Do 
you  really  think  I  am  smart  enough?" 

"Doit?  The  easiest  in  the  world !  Do  it;  and 
benefit  everybody,  and  not  hurt  yourself." 

"Will  you  give  me  full  directions  as  to  the  best 
way  ?" 

"We'll  talk  it  all  over  together  before  you  begin. 
I'll  study  on  it  to-night,  and  we'll  hold  a  conference 
in  my  office  to-morrow.  We'll  help  you  in  every 
way  we  can,  in  this  and  all  other  commissions  that 
you  may  undertake  for  us." 

When  they  drove  home,  the  shadows  of  the  early 
winter  night  had  already  fallen  over  the  city,  and  the 
electric  lights  were  shining  on  the  snow  with  a  white 
and  dazzling  brilliancy.  Sparks  sputtered  beneath 
the  wheels  of  the  trolley-cars  like  phosphorus 
around  the  prow  of  a  moving  ship,  and  the  over- 
head wires  twinkled  with  a  line  of  evanescent  stars. 

Murchison  delighted  a  church  committee  the  next 


286      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

morning  by  replying  to  their  begging  letter  with 
a  hundred-dollar  check,  thereby  confirming  the  im- 
pression that  his  private  charities  gave  the  lie  to  all 
rumors  derogatory  to  his  reputation.  And  he 
chuckled  as  he  told  his  lawyer  that  he  Kad  at  last 
got  Crissey  on  the  run.  "I've  found  his  weak 
spot,"  he  laughed.  "I've  got  him  mixed  up  with  a 
woman,  and  it'll  develop  into  a  scandal,  sure,  if  he 
don't  listen  to  reason." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  RIFT  WITHIN  THE  LUTE 

"Are  the  Chapins  coming  to  dinner  every  Sun- 
day all  the  rest  of  our  lives?"  asked  Dolly  Crissey. 
There  was  a  petulant  note  in  her  voice,  and  she  did 
not  fix  her  eyes  on  her  husband  with  that  level, 
fearless  glance  so  characteristic  of  her.  She  felt 
spiteful,  and  she  was  ashamed  of  herself  for  feeling 
so.  She  would  not  admit  that  there  was  a  suspicion 
in  her  mind  regarding  her  husband,  for  she  had  no 
just  cause  for  suspicion.  Besides,  her  own  mind 
was  so  ingenuous  and  innocent  that  she  had  the 
greatest  scorn  of  anything  that  smacked  of  deceit. 
That  she  was  annoyed,  and  did  not  care  to  tell  her 
husband  why,  made  her  all  the  more  uncomfortable. 
She  was  tired,  moreover,  and,  like  all  tired  women, 
she  imagined  herself  unattractive. 

A  woman,  like  a  cat,  needs  a  certain  amount  of 
stroking  to  make  her  purr.  Rub  her  persistently 
the  wrong  way,  with  never  so  good  intentions,  and 
the  nervous  electricity  in  her  accumulates,  and  she 
becomes  spiteful. 

287 


288      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"Why,  no,  my  dear,"  laughed  Crissey,  "though 
they  have  been  here  a  good  deal  lately,  haven't 
they?" 

"Yes;  you  seem  to  derive  great  pleasure  from 
their  society.  Oh,  I'm  so  tired  to-night  that  my 
legs  will  Hardly  hold  me  up.  The  children  have 
been  perfect  little  demons  all  day."  And  she  sank 
into  a  chair  with  a  sigh.  The  tiny  blotch  of  white 
hair  fell  down  before  her  eyes,  and  she  pulled  it  out 
straight  and  looked  at  it,  wrinkling  her  forehead 
that  she  might  the  better  raise  her  lids. 

"I'm  getting  gray  as  a  rat,"  slie  observed.  "If  I 
were  red-Keaded,  now,  like  Mrs.  Chapin — how  is 
that,  Edward;  do  red-headed  persons  grow  gray 
early  ?" 

Crissey  turned  sharply  about  from  the  mirror 
and  looked  at  her.  He  was  dressing  for  a  dinner 
at  the  Fellow-craft  Club,  one  of  those  stag  organ- 
izations that  dine  ever  so  often  and  are  entertained 
by  their  guests,  actors  and  others  who  can  be  in- 
duced to  tell  a  story  or  sing  a  song  in  return  for 
dinner. 

Crissey  had  accepted  this  invitation  because  he 
was  seeking  every  legitimate  opportunity  to  extend 
his  popularity. 

"You're  all  out  of  sorts  to-night,  Dolly,"  he  said, 
kindly.  "If  I  Hadn't  positively  promised  to  respond 


A   RIFT   WITHIN   THE   LUTE       289 

to  a  toast  I  wouldn't  go  and  leave  you  alone.    What 
is  the  matter,  little  woman?    Don't  you  feel  well?" 

"Oh,  don't  stop  at  home  on  my  account,"  she  re- 
plied. "I  never  see  you  any  more  anyway,  and 
one  evening  more  or  less  won't  make  any  differ- 
ence." 

"This  isn't  like  you,  Dolly,"  said  Crissey,  arrang- 
ing his  black  necktie.  "You  must  be  kind  of  run 
down  and  nervous.  Don't  you  think  you  need  a 
tonic?" 

"I  guess  I'm  just  bored,  that's  all.    But  don't 
mind  about  me." 
:     Crissey  struggled  into  his  dinner  coat. 

"I'm  a  guilty  wretch',"  he  admitted,  "and  I  do 
neglect  you.  But  it's  as  much  for  your  sake  and 
that  of  the  children  as  for  my  own.  Half  the  time 
I'd  rather  be  at  home  here  with  you  and  the  little 
ones,  but  politics  is  a  jealous  mistress.  I'm  going 
to  Congress  next  fall,  sure  thing,  Dolly,  and  you 
are  going  with  me.  Am  I  all  right?"  he  laughed, 
leaning  with  his  back  against  the  bureau,  his  hands 
upon  it.  "Black  tie,  gold  studs,  everything? 
Hadn't  we  better  get  out  the  theater  program 
again  ?" 

She  sighed.  He  was  certainly  the  handsomest 
man  in  all  the  world,  and  sfie  felt  old  and  ugly. 

"What  did  that  Chapin  woman  want  of  you  last 


290      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

Sunday,"  she  asked,  "tittering  and  giggling  there 
in  the  library  so  long?" 

"Want  of  me?  Why,  nothing,  I  guess.  She 
always  wants  to  talk  about  books.  Why  didn't 
you  come  in?  I  wish  you  wouldn't  let  her  corner 
me  and  then  bore  me  by  enthusing  about  books 
which  she  knows  nothing  about." 

"You  didn't  look  very  weary  when  I  saw  you; 
you  were  sitting  there  together  like  two  birds  in  a 
nest,  both  deeply  absorbed,  I  assure  you." 

"Why,  Dolly,  this  is  positively  preposterous.  If 
you  are  jealous,  now,  it  will  be  for  the  first  time  in 
our  married  life,  and  over  the  least  likely  person 
in  the  whole  world." 

"Why  did  she  titter  so  then  and  look  at  you  so 
languishingly  ?" 

"Come  to  think  of  it,  tKe  woman  did  act  queer," 
admitted  Crissey.  "But  she's  just  a  silly  woman, 
you  know." 

"She's  in  love  with  you,  that's  what's  the  matter," 
said  Dolly  on  the  verge  of  tears.  "Why,  Mrs. 
Mallock  was  telling  me  yesterday  about  the  Cra- 
mers. That  deceitful  little  cat,  Eva  Sutherland, 
Mrs.  Cramer's  most  intimate  friend,  came  into  her 
house  and  took  away  her  husband  under  her  very 
nose.  Edward,"  and  rising  she  looked  at  him 


A   RIFT   WITHIN    THE   LUTE       291 

solemnly,  "if  any  woman  did  that  to  me,  I'd  kill 
her!" 

"By  Jove,  I  believe  you  would,"  said  Crissey,  re- 
garding her  admiringly.  "I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
Jim  got  his  fighting  qualities  from  you  after  all. 
But  you're  setting  up  a  straw  woman,  Dolly. 
Pshaw !  It's  too  foolish  to  think  about.  I  couldn't 
afford  to  get  mixed  up  with  any  woman  just  now, 
even  if  I  wanted  to.  Wait  till  you  are  strutting 
about  the  streets  of  Washington  on  tKe  arm  of 
Congressman  Crissey,  and  you'll  wonder  how  you 
could  have  been  such  a  little  goose." 

"She's  such"  a  handsome  woman,  and  you  and 
she  make  such  a  fine  couple  together,"  pouted  Dolly. 

"Pshaw!  She'll  never  get  a  chance  to  look  any 
way  with  me.  You  mustn't  distract  me  this  way, 
little  woman.  I  invite  the  Chapins  because  I  like 
Harry.  He's  not  brilliant  like  his  uncle,  the  sena- 
tor, but  he's  true  blue,  the  best-hearted  fellow  in 
the  world.  He  went  to  school  with  me  in  the  coun- 
try when  we  were  boys.  •  I'm  sorry  for  him,  too. 
He  made  a  mistake  in  marrying  that  silly,  selfish 
woman,  and  I've  fancied  of  late  that  he  didn't  seem 
quite  happy.  But  if  you  are  sure  that  you  have 
noticed  anything  queer  in — " 

"You're  tKe  best  fellow  in  tKe  world,"  cried 


•292      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

Dolly  impulsively,  pacified  as  much  by  the  con- 
temptuous epithets  applied  to  Mrs.  Chapin  as  by 
the  explanation.  "I'm  a  little  out  of  sorts,  I  guess. 
But  you  know,  yourself,  that  I  never  see  you  any 
more." 

"We'll  have  an  evening  all  to  ourselves  this  very 
week,"  promised  the  alderman.  "We'll  go  to  the 
theater — I'll  see  about  the  tickets  the  first  thing 
to-morrow.  By  Jove!"  looking  at  his  watch,  "do 
you  know  what  time  it  is?"  And  stepping  to  the 
hall  he  took  down  his  Kat  and  coat  from  the  nail. 
"I'll  be  late."  Then,  coming  back  for  a  moment, 
with  the  idea  of  cheering  up  his  wife : 

"This  reminds  me  of  a  story  that  I  read  some 
time  ago  in  one  of  the  comic  papers,"  he  laughed, 
"about  a  little  boy  who  asked  his  mother  who  the 
strange  man  was  that  spanked  him.  It  was  his 
father,  don't  you  see?  He  came  home  so  seldom 
during  the  daytime  that — " 

Dolly  smiled,  sadly. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  furnish  a  diagram.  I  under- 
stand it  without  the  least  explanation.  It  doesn't 
seem  at  all  funny  to  me." 

Crissey  kissed  Her.  "Brace  up,  little  woman. 
Don't  cry  over  imaginary  troubles." 

She  followed  him  to  the  door  and  called  after 
him: 


A   RIFT   WITHIN   THE   LUTE       293 

"Look  in  a  glass  before  you  go  in,  and  see 
that  your  necktie  isn't  twisted  around  under  your 
ear." 

As  she  turned  back  into  the  house,  sh'e  heard  the 
shrill  voices  of  Dorothy  and  Agnes  Matilda  from 
the  bedroom,  as  though  quarreling. 

"My  goodness,"  she  exclaimed;  "there's  th'e  chil- 
dren waked  up !"  and  she  ran  in  to  them. 

Dorothy  was  sitting  up  in  bed  in  her  little  white 
"nighty,"  and  she  fairly  shrieked  as  soon  as  she  saw 
her  mother: 

"Isn't  to-day  to-morrow,  mama?"  and  Agnes, 
annoyed  at  being  disturbed,  was  mocking  her  by 
repeating,  "Isn't  it,  'tisn't  it  ?" 

Mrs.  Crissey  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  said, 
tenderly:  "Lie  "down  like  a  good  girl  and  go  to 
sleep,  and  when  you  wake  up  in  the  morning  it  will 
be  to-morrow." 

She  well  knew  that  in  the  morning  the  little  one 
would  ask  as  soon  as  she  was  fairly  awake,  "Is  it 
to-morrow  yet,  mama?"  for  her  small  mind  had 
been  pursuing  this  difficult  question  for  about  a 
week  now ;  but  she  saw  no  better  way  than  to  put 
the  child  off  from  day  to  day,  till  the  truth  dawned 
upon  her. 

"Will  you  sleep  with  me,  mama?  Will  you  sleep 
with  me?" 


294      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"Yes,  if  you  go  right  to  sleep.  I  did  put  you 
to  sleep  once." 

The  baby  snuggle'd  down  beside  her  sister  and  lay 
perfectly  quiet  for  twenty  minutes.  Just  as  Mrs. 
Crissey  was  thinking  of  rising  and  stealing  from 
the  room,  a  small  voice  asked  in  perfect  wakeful- 
ness: 

"How  time  it  is  ?    Seben  o'clock  ?" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

PRIMITIVE  METHODS 

Kickham  GorHam,  the  tall,  stoop-shouldered, 
blond  young  man  who  had  read  law  with  Crissey 
for  many  years,  and  who  of  late  had  been  practis- 
ing in  the  justice  courts,  was  at  last  admitted  into 
partnership.  On  the  outer  windows  of  the  offices 
were  inscribed  the  letters,  "Crissey  and  Gorham, 
Attorneys  at  Law,"  and  the  young  man  was  in  the 
Kabit  of  walking  slowly  past  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street  that  he  might  read  the  sign,  high  up,  and 
enjoy  the  visible  evidence  of  his  triumph.  On  the 
door  opening  into  the  main  hall  one  read  the  names : 

EDWARD  CRISSEY 
KICKHAM  GORHAM 
ATTORNEYS  AND  COUNSELLORS 
AT  LAW. 

If  you  opened  this,  an  anemic  young  man  with 
tousled  hair  looked  up  from  a  typewriter  and 
asked  whom  you  wished  to  see.  Here  was  the 


296      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

general  reception-room,  whose  only  other  furnish- 
ing consisted  of  a  metal  water-tank  marked,  "Wau- 
kesha,"  a  cane-bottom  chair,  and  a  bench  along  the 
wall. 

Offices  had  been  walled  off  by  means  of  an 
opaque  glass  screen  rising  half-way  to  the  ceiling. 
The  first  and  most  accessible  of  these  was  occupied 
by  Mr.  Kickham  Gorham,  the  second  by  Mr.  Ed- 
ward Crissey. 

One  evening  about  a  week  after  the  dinner  at  the 
Fellow-craft  Club,  Crissey  was  sitting  in  bis  office, 
much  mystified.  He  had  received  a  letter  from 
Mrs.  Chapin,  asking  him  to  give  her  an  appoint- 
ment at  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  as  she  wished 
to  talk  with  him  on  important  matters.  His  first 
impulse  had  been  to  ignore  the  request,  as  he  could 
not  think  of  any  possible  business  which  she  could 
have  with  him.  A  chance  thought  caused  him  to 
reconsider  the  decision. 

"Trouble  with  her  husband,"  he  mused,  as  he 
thumbed  the  pages  of  an  important  case.  "She's 
tired  of  slow-going,  prosaic  old  Harry,  and  wants 
to  get  a  divorce.  Perhaps  some  rich  man  Has 
turned  her  head.  Huh !  he's  worth  a  dozen  of  her. 
I'll  give  her  a  talking  to  that  will  do  her  good." 

He  was  smoking  a  cigar  and  reading  his  notes 


PRIMITIVE    METHODS  297 

by  an  electric  bulb  with  a  green  tin  cover,  wKen 
Nellie  opened  the  door  and  entered. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Crissey,"  she  faltered;  and 
then  she  giggled  timidly :  "Why,  how  dark  it  is  in 
here!" 

"Good  evening,  Madam.  I'll  turn  on  tKe  lights 
in  the  chandelier  immediately,"  and  he  arose  to  suit 
the  action  to  the  word. 

"No,  no,"  said  Nellie,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
arm.  "It's  quite  light  enough  to  talk  by,  and  I 
feel  nervous  coming  all  alone  to  a  man's  office.  I — 
I  never  did  such  a  thing  before  in  my  life.  There 
might  be  somebody  across  the  street  that  knew  me. 
You  never  can  tell  when  you'll  be  recognized  in  a 
city  like  this.  I'm  just  sure  that  elevator  man 
knew  who  I  was." 

"As  you  please,  Madam,"  replied  the  lawyer, 
placing  a  chair  near  his  desk.  "Won't  you  be 
seated  ?" 

Nellie  took  the  proffered  chair,  and,  removing 
the  glove  from  her  right  hand,  fumbled  with  the 
knot  of  her  veil. 

"Won't  you  untie  my  veil?"  she  asked  after  a 
moment,  turning  partly  around  and  bending  her 
neck.  "It  has  got  into  such  a  hard  knot." 

"Does  your  veil  interfere  with  conversation?" 


298      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

asked  the  lawyer  dryly,  not  making  the  least 
move. 

"Yes,"  sHe  tittered.  "It's  wet,  and  it  keeps  get- 
ting into  my  mouth." 

He  arose,  and  leaning  gallantly  over  her,  with 
the  hackneyed  words,  "Permit  me,  Madam,"  per- 
formed the  desired  service.  His  trained  legal  in- 
tellect, keen  for  detail,  did  not  fail  to  note  that  the 
knot  was  very  easy  and  yielded  to  the  first  touch 
of  his  clumsy  fingers.  He  handed  her  the  veil  with 
a  courteous  bow  and  resumed  his  seat. 

"How  cleverly  you  did  it,"  laughed  Nellie.  "You 
must  be  used  to  such  things.  Because  you're  a 
married  man,  I  suppose !" 

"Can  it  be  possible?"  reflected  Crissey,  glancing 
nervously  at  the  cluster  of  electric  bulbs  above  his 
head.  "Is  Dolly  right,  after  all?" 

The  woman  filled  tKe  room  witK  a  faint  odor  of 
heliotrope,  and  for  a  moment  the  strong  man's  heart 
beat  faster,  and  a  sudden  dryness  in  his  throat 
caused  him  to  swallow  two  or  three  times.  Nellie 
was  leaning  toward  him,  a  fixed  smile  exposing  her 
white  teeth  that  gleamed  in  the  dim  light. 

"Why  don't  you  smoke?"  she  asked.  "I  do  so 
enjoy  the  smell  of  tobacco.  It  makes  a  woman  feel 
as  though  there  were  a  man  around,"  she  added, 


PRIMITIVE    METHODS  299 

suddenly  remembering  a  phrase  that  she  had  read 
somewhere. 

Rising  with  a  snap  as  though  a  spring  had  been 
released,  Crissey  took  a  match  from  the  top  of  his 
desk  and  relighted  his  cigar.  Nellie  watched  him 
closely  as  the  light  of  the  match  fell  on  his  strong, 
handsome  face  and  white  hair.  Her  eyelids  were 
brought  together  till  the  reddish  pupils  peeped  out 
through  the  merest  slit — the  same  sort  of  a  cat- 
like regard  that  she  had  once  cast  upon  Harry, 
when  she  had  him  within  striking  distance.  Cris- 
sey took  a  brisk  turn  up  and  down  the  office,  puffing 
vigorously,  and  then  sat  down  again,  complete  mas- 
ter of  himself. 

"What  is  your  business  witK  me,  Madam?"  he 
inquired  brusquely,  at  the  same  time  taking  out  his 
watch.  "Please  be  brief.  It  is  getting  late,  and 
I  must  be  going  home." 

"Oh,  how  you  frightened  me!"  cried  Nellie  in 
mock  trepidation.  "One  would  think  you  were  a 
great  big  bear,  when  you  growl  like  that !" 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  am  very  sorry  if  I  fright- 
ened you.  And  now  will  you  kindly  state  the  na- 
ture of  your  business  ?" 

"Will  you  promise  not  to  growl  again?" 

Crissey  smiled  in  spite  of  himself. 


300      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"On  one  condition,  and  that  is  that  you  have  not 
come  to  me  with  any  stories  about  my  old  friend 
Harry." 

"Then  I'm  safe,  for  it  isn't  about  Harry." 

"Well,  then?" 

Nellie  cleared  her  throat,  slid  a  little  nearer  to  the 
lawyer,  till  she  was  sitting  on  the  very  edge  of  her 
chair,  and  then  mechanically  straightened  her  hat. 
Crissey  sat  gravely  looking  at  her,  a  respectful 
image  of  carven  attention. 

"Oh,  dear,  I  don't  know  how  to  begin,"  she  tit- 
tered. "You  are  so  stern  and  forbidding;  I  am 
really  afraid  of  you." 

"Do  you  want  me  to  lecture  again  before  the 
club?" 

"It's  about  the  telephones,"  Nellie  blurted  out. 
She  had  expected  to  make  a  complete  conquest  of 
Crissey  by  this  time.  His  self-control  left  her  in 
a  position  of  unexpected  difficulty,  and  she  was  be- 
coming so  embarrassed  that  she  scarcely  knew  what 
she  was  saying. 

"About  the  telephones?" 

"Yes.  Do  you  know  that,  on  account  of  your 
friendship  for  Harry,  I  am  so  interested  in  your 
career?  You  are  so  learned  and  eloquent  and  so 
striking  looking.  Do  you  know  that  Mrs.  Kim- 
ball- Smith  says  that  you  are  the  most  interesting 


PRIMITIVE   METHODS  301 

man  that  ever  lectured  before  the  club?"    She  ac- 
cented the  word  "interesting"  on  the  penult. 

"Yes,  but  what  about  the  telephones?"  asked 
Crissey,  feeling  ill  at  ease. 

Nellie  was  seized  with  a  sudden  inspiration. 

"All  the  women  of  the  club  are  so  interested  in 
your  career,  since  you  appeared  before  us.  We 
don't  want  you  to  do  anything  to  hurt  it.  We  want 
you  to  be  just  as  popular  as  you  can  be.  Now  you 
know  what  an  awful  telephone  service  we  have  in 
this  city.  If  the  company  were  granted  an  exten- 
sion of — of — time,  telephones  would  be  cheaper. 
Couldn't  you  vote  for  it  in  the  Council?  It  would 
make  you  so  popular.  Couldn't  you,  Mr.  Crissey, 
,iust — just  to  please  me?" 

She  laid  her  firm  white  hand  on  that  of  the 
lawyer,  resting  upon  his  knee,  and  pressed  it  con- 
vulsively. 

Crissey  jerked  his  arm  back,  arose  to  his  feet,  and 
turned  the  light  on  full.  Leaning  over  the  woman, 
he  looked  her  in  the  eye.  She  trembled  violently 
under  the  clear,  honest  gaze.  Her  face  flushed 
red  as  scarlet  and  then  turned  white. 

"So  that  villain  Murchison  sent  you?"  he  asked 
at  length  in  a  low  tone. 

Nellie  sprang  forward  and,  laying  her  Hands  on 
his  shoulders,  cried: 


302      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"I  thought  it  was  best  for  you !  It  is  best  for 
you !  Please,  please,  do  it  for  my  sake !" 

He  seized  her  wrists,  and,  holding  her  from  him, 
pushed  her  gently  but  firmly  down  into  her  chair. 

"Mrs.  Chapin,"  he  said,  gravely  and  almost  ten- 
derly, "your  words  can  bear  but  one  interpreta- 
tion, but  I  refuse  to  understand  you.  You  are  a 
respectable  married  woman,  the  wife  of  the  best 
man  in  the  world — my  friend.  I  perceive  that  you 
are  in  great  danger,  that  you  are  in  the  clutches  of 
one  of  the  shrewdest  and  most  unprincipled  villains 
in  the  world.  Go  home  to  your  husband,  Mrs. 
Ch — Nellie.  Learn  to  love  him.  Learn  to  love 
your  home.  Become  a  mother.  No  woman  'is  half 
a  woman  until  she  becomes  a  mother.  She  can 
not  fail  to  be  true  and  good  and  virtuous  after  she 
has  felt  the  touch  of  baby  fingers  upon  her  cheek — 
unless,  indeed,  she  be  a  monstrosity,  which  you  are 
not.  Go  home,  Nellie,  and  pray  to  God  to  help  you. 
You  are  not  fitted  for  this  thing  that  you  are  doing 
to-night.  You  did  not  do  it  well.  I  could  see 
from  your  awkwardness,  I  can  see  from  the  tears 
that  are  now  stealing  into  your  eyes,  that  you  are 
too  good  a  woman  for  this  kind  of  thing." 

Nellie  sat  looking  at  him  as  if  fascinated.  When 
he  spoke  of  her  tears,  she  picked  up  her  veil  from 


Your  words  can  bear  but 
one  interpretation 


PRIMITIVE    METHODS  303 

the  desk  and  covered  her  face  with  it.  Crissey  took 
one  of  her  hands  in  his. 

"You  are  a  good  woman,  Nellie,"  fie  said,  "and  it 
is  the  mission  of  good  women  to  make  the  world 
better,  to  make  men  better,  not  worse.  Now  let 
us  wipe  this  interview  off  the  slate — forget  it  en- 
tirely, as  though  it  had  never  happened.  Don't 
despise  your  husband  because  he  is  not  brilliant. 
He  has  as  many  noble  qualities  as  any  man  I 
know.  All  the  brilliancy  in  the  world  does  not 
weigh  heavier  in  the  scales  than  a  thoroughly  good, 
true  heart.  Try  to  see — " 

A  noise  in  the  adjoining  office  caused  him  to  drop 
the  hand  and  to  glance  quickly  at  the  glass  parti- 
tion. Darting  suddenly  from  the  room,  he  threw 
open  the  door  inscribed,  "Mr.  Kickhan  Gorham," 
and  surprised  two  men,  one  fat,  with  a  red 
face,  wearing  a  short  light  overcoat  and  a  small 
derby ;  the  other  small,  wearing  a  cheap  ulster  and 
a  slouch  hat. 

"We,  ah,  just  happened  in,"  stammered  one  of 
them. 

Crissey  sprang  forward,  and,  catching  them  both 
by  the  collar,  knocked  their  heads  together. 

"Murder!  -Murder!"  screamed    the    little    man. 

The  larger  one,  who  was  quite  powerful,  strug- 


304      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

gled  violently.  Crissey  let  go  of  him,  and  struck 
him  a  blow  full  in  the  face  that  felled  him  to  the 
floor. 

"And  now,  my  little  man,"  he  panted,  choking 
the  other  until  his  eyes  started  from  his  head,  "tell 
me  who  let  you  in  here.  Who  was  it,  quick,  or 
I'll  break  your  neck." 

"The — the  janitor,"  wheezed  the  "private  de- 
tective." 

"The  janitor,  eh?  Well,  I'll  Kelp  you  out."  And 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  led  him  to  the 
door  and  propelled  the  detective  through  it  with  a 
good,  honest  kick. 

Turning  to  the  larger  man,  who  was  just  recov- 
ering, he  pulled  him  roughly  to  his  feet,  and  helped 
him  through  the  door  in  the  same  primitive  manner. 
Then  he  returned  to  his  own  office.  Nellie  was 
gone;  but  Her  green  veil  was  lying  on  his  desk, 
and  the  room  was  filled  with  a  faint  odor  of  helio- 
trope. 

Crissey  crushed  the  slight  fabric  into  a  tiny  wad 
and  threw  it  into  the  waste-paper  basket. 

"Poor  Harry !"  he  muttered.     "Poor  old  fellow !" 

He  stood  for  a  full  minute  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  in  deep  reflection,  bringing  his  train  of 
thought  to  a  conclusion  with  a  low  whistle. 


PRIMITIVE   METHODS  305 

"Well,  I  reckon  they  won't  make  much  capital  out 
of  that,"  He  laughed,  picking  up  his  hat  from  the 
top  of  the  desk. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

MISCHIEF  IN  A  LETTER 

Dolly  Crissey  was  sewing  a  button  on  her  hus- 
band's every-day  business  coat,  with  her  little  flock 
about  her.  It  was  evening,  and  by  the  light  of  the 
green-shaded  lamp  Jim  was  struggling  with  the 
first  principles  of  algebra.  Dorothy  Second,  who 
had  developed  a  great  talent  for  art,  sat  in  her  little 
red  chair  drawing  pictures  on  a  sheet  of  foolscap. 
She  used  the  bottom  of  an  ordinary  kitchen  chair 
for  a  table,  and  came  running  every  moment  to  her 
mother  to  receive  approbation  for  her  latest  effort. 

Agnes,  who  was  already  becoming  quite  domes- 
tic, as  is  apt  to  be  the  case  with  little  girls  who 
have  good,  sensible  mothers,  sat  in  her  rocker  with 
her  legs  dangling,  demurely  hemming  a  table  nap- 
kin. Imitative  of  her  mother,  she  desired  always 
to  be  doing  the  same  thing  or  something  similar. 
Her  work  was  far  from  perfect ;  yet  Mrs.  Crissey 
had  ever  some  kind  word  of  encouragement  to  say, 
and  rarely  condemned  outright. 
306 


MISCHIEF   IN   A   LETTER          307 

"Ma,"  said  Jim,  running  his  fingers  through  his 
tousled,  reddish  hair,  "I  wish  you  had  studied  al- 
gebra when  you  were  a  girl,  so  that  you  could  help 
me.  I  can't  make  any  sense  out  of  it  at  all." 

"It'll  do  you  more  good  to  dig  it  out  yourself, 
my  son,"  she  replied.  "Stick  to  it,  and  it  will  come 
to  you  all  at  once.  Your  father  had  no  one  to  help 
him  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  see  what  a  learned, 
brilliant  man  he  is." 

"But  algebra  is  such  rot,"  replied  the  Hoy.  "Now 
here  it  says  that  x  and  y  are  unknown  quantities, 
and  that  a  and  b  are  known  quantities.  That's  a 
lie.  They're  all  unknown  to  mel" 

"James !  You  mustn't  use  such  strong  language, 
not  even  about  your  lessons.  It  doesn't  sound  nice. 
Just  read  it  over  carefully  and  quietly,  and  I'm  sure 
you  can  understand  it.  Doesn't  Tommy  Spears 
understand  the  algebra  sums  ?" 

"Yes'm,"  grunted  Jim. 

"Well,  there  you  are.  You  wouldn't  want  any- 
body to  say  that  Ke  is  smarter  than  you." 

Jim  rested  both'  elbows  on  the  table,  dug  his 
fingers  into  his  hair,  and  read  the  paper  again  with 
'determined  eyes  and  knotted  brows. 

All  at  once,  and  apropos  of  nothing,  little  Doro- 
thy began  to  sing,  in  a  high  flat  voice  and  with  less 


3o8      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

tune  than  time,  which  she  marked  by  stabbing  the 
paper  with  the  point  of  her  pencil : 

One  dark  night*  'when  everybody  wus  in  bed, 
Mrs.  O' Larry  lit  her  lamp  'n  the  shed; 
Cow  kicked  it  over  and  winked  he's  eye  'n'  said, 
'There'll  be  a  hot.  'time,  in  the  oV  town  ter-night, 

Mah  baby — 
Wen  you  hear—' 

"Dorothy,  Dorothy !"  cried  Jim.  "Ma,  can't  you 
stop  her?  I  can't  learn  anything  if  she's  going  to 
make  sucR  a  racket." 

Trie  child  continued  the  song,  and  Mrs.  Crissey 
ran  to  her  and  put  her  hand  over  her  mouth. 

"Sh — "  she  said,  laughing,  "you  mustn't  make 
so  much'  noise  now.  Jim  wants  to  study." 

"All  the  silderns  at  the  kindergarten  sings  it," 
pleaded  Dorothy,  "and  Uncle  Harry  says  it's  a 
bully  song." 

"Let  mama  see  what  you  have  made.  Jim,  you 
had  better  go  into  your  father's  library  and  pre- 
pare your  lesson." 

"It's  mama  earning  home  wiv  her  new  Kat  on. 
That's  the  eye,  that's  tKe  hair,  that's  the  nose, 
them's  armzes,  them's  fingers." 

"But  where's  the  other  eye,  sweetheart  ?  Hasn't 
mama;  got  two  eyes  ?" 


MISCHIEF   IN   A   LETTER  309 

"Every  peoples  has  two  eyes,"  replied  the  little 
girl  gravely.  "She's  other  eye  is  on  the  other 
side." 

"Who  taught  you  that?" 

"Uncle  Harry." 

"He's  a  wonderful  man,  isn't  he?  He  teaches 
you  to  sing  and  to  draw." 

"I  love  him  three  bushels,"  said  little  Dorothy. 

"And  how  much  do  you  love  mama?" 

"Seben  bushels." 

"And  papa?" 

"Five  bushels." 

TKe  mother  caught  the  child  to  her  breast  and 
whispered  to  her :  "You'll  love  papa  more  when  you 
grow  up  to  be  a  big  girl.  Mama  loves  him  a  mil- 
lion, million  bushels." 

"I  love  mama  the  bestest,"  declared  Dorothy 
stoutly.  "Will  I  be  a  big  girl  to-morrow,  mama? 
Will  I,  mama?" 

"Isn't  Dorothy  silly?"  inquired  Agnes  disdain- 
fully. 

Just  then  a  decorative  clock  on  the  mantel,  shaped 
like  the  fagade  of  a  Greek  temple,  struck  eight 
with  a  mellow  chime. 

"It's  time  little  girls  went  to  by-o-land,"  said  the 
mother,  setting  the  baby  on  her  chair.  "Agnes, 
dear,  gather  up  youf  work." 


3io      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"Yes,  mama." 

Mrs.  Crissey  took  up  the  coat,  which"  sHe  had 
laid  across  the  back  of  the  rocker  in  which  she  had 
been  sewing,  and  something  white  dropped  from  a 
pocket  and  fluttered  to  the  floor. 

She  picked  it  up.  It  was  a  letter,  and  Her  quick 
eye  detected  the  fact  that  the  superscription  on 
the  envelope  was  in  a  woman's  hand.  Never  be- 
fore in  her  life  had  the  temptation  come  to  her  to 
read  surreptitiously  one  of  her  husband's  letters. 
She  glanced  a  second  time  sharply  at  this  one  and 
tucked  it  back  into  the  pocket.  She  put  the  coat 
over  Her  arm  and  started  to  hang  it  away,  but  before 
she  reached  the  door  she  glanced  guiltily  at  the 
children.  Agnes  was  still  fussing  witK  her  sew- 
ing, gathering  up  odds  and  ends  and  putting  them 
into  a  little  bag;  and  Dorothy  Second  was  making 
one  more  picture.  She  slipped  the  letter  from  the 
pocket,  and,  turning  her  back  to  the  little  ones, 
took  it  from  the  envelope  and  read  it.  It  said : 

"Dear  Mr.  Crissey — Can  you  be  in  your  office 
Wednesday  evening  at  eight  o'clock?  I  want  to  see 
you  so  much.  Yours  sincerely, 

"NELLIE  CHAPIN." 

"So!"  whispered  Dolly,  clutching  at  her  heart, 


MISCHIEF   IN   A   LETTER          311 

through  which  a  sudden  and  intolerable  pain  had 
shot  as  though  some  cruel  hand  had  seized  and 
wrung  it.  Mechanically  she  put  the  letter  back  a 
second  time,  and  sank,  almost  fainting,  into  a  chair. 
She  must  have  sat  some  minutes  thus,  staring  with 
wide-open  eyes  and  lips  white,  for  sHe  was  at  last 
awakened  from  her  stunned  condition  by  the  voices 
of  her  daughters,  quarreling  over  an  apple. 

"That's  half,  I  tell  you,"  Agnes  was  saying,  and 
little  Dorothy  was  whining : 

"Oh,  not  so  half,  I  told  you ;  not  so  half." 

She  hastened  from  the  room,  turning  her  face 
away  that  the  children  might  not  see  it,  and  called 
Lena,  telling  her  hoarsely  to  put  them  to  bed,  as 
she  was  not  feeling  well. 

Her  first  impulse  on  reaching  her  own  room  was 
to  throw  herself  on  the  couch  and  sob.  But  she 
was  too  strong  a  character  for  that.  Instead,  she 
walked  nervously  to  and  fro,  trying  to  think.  Dif- 
ferent emotions  swayed  Her  in  turn.  One  moment 
it  seemed  as  though  this  designing,  wicked  woman 
were  making  a  systematic  attack  on  her  husband's 
affections.  Then  Dolly  felt  old  and  ugly  and  sorry 
for  herself.  She  had  no  doubt  of  Nellie's  ultimate 
victory,  and  covering  her  face  with  Her  hands,  she 
sobbed  hysterically.  The  next  instant  a  feeling  of 
rag;e  swept  over  her ;  an'd^  with  clenched  fists,  writh- 


3i2      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

ing  lips,  and  deadly  eyes,  she  became  a  little  fury, 
with  the  dark  shadow  of  murder  looming  in  her 
bosom.  Again,  she  thought  of  the  silly  manners 
of  Nellie  in  the  library,  and  the  eyes  which  she  had 
seen  her  make,  and  her  jealous  mind  leaped  at  con- 
viction; her  husband  had  become  entangled  with 
this  vile  woman,  and  she  was  making  him  meet 
her  wKerever  and  whenever  she  pleased. 

Ah,  that  explained  why  she  had  seen  so  little  of 
him  of  late!  Oh",  God!  And  here  she  stopped 
suddenly  and  stared  as  though  she  beheld  some 
horrid  specter  that  Had  been  dogging  her  all  her 
life,  invisible  till  now;  or  as  though  the  mask  had 
dropped  from  the  face  of  a  friend,  exposing  the 
obscene  and  fleshless  lineaments  of  corruption : 
perhaps  her  husband  had  always  been  false  to  her ! 
Then  she  thought  of  how  she  had  worked  for  him 
through  all  his  early  years  of  struggle,  and  she 
sobbed  aloud: 

"I've  been  a  good  wife  to  you,  Edward.  You 
know  I've  been  a  good  wife  to  you.  I've  grown 
old  before  my  time  for  you." 

Just  then  Lena  knocked  at  the  door. 

"Please,  ma'am,  Dorothy's  so  bad.  She  won't 
say  her  prayers." 

Mother-love,  stronger  than  any  other  emotion  in 


MISCHIEF   IN    A   LETTER  313 

the  heart  of  a  really  good  woman,  arose  all  power- 
ful. 

"Tell  Her  I'll  come  right  down,"  called  Dolly; 
and  she  muttered,  as  she  washed  her  haggard  face 
with  cold  water: 

"My  poor  darlings.  They  must  never  suffer  for 
this.  They  must  never  know  of  it." 

Aggie,  sitting  up  in  bed  in  her  white  gown,  with 
two  tiny  pigtails  hanging  down  her  back,  began 
to  explain  volubly  how  naughty  Dorothy  was,  the 
moment  the  mother  entered  the  bedroom. 

Dorothy,  in  flannel  pajamas,  was  striding  up  and 
down  the  bed,  bouncing  on  the  springs  as  a  circus 
athlete  walks  on  the  net  into  whicli  he  falls  after 
an  aerial  feat.  She  was  singing  at  the  top  of  a 
very  high"  pair  of  lungs:  "Jesus  loves  me,  Jesus 
loves  me."  TKe  moment  she  saw  her  mother  she 
shrieked,  "Ho,  mama!  Oh,  mama!  Ain't  you 
comin'  to  put  me  to  sleep,  mama?  Ain't  you,  or 
not  you?" 

The  mother  pressed  the  child  to  her  bosom  and 
knelt  by  the  side  of  the  bed  with  her. 

"Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,"  she  said. 

There  was  something  in  her  tone  that  instantly 
quelled  the  thoughtless  exuberance  of  childhood, 
and  a  hushed,  sweet  voice  piped  out  in  the  dim 


3i4      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

light,  fragrant  of  love  and  holiness  and  the  pure 
breath  of  innocence: 


"Now  I  'ay  me  down  to  s'eep, 
I  prays  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep; 
If  I  should  die  before  I  wake, 
I  prays  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take." 

The  last  line  was  sung,  with  a  careless  accent 
upon  the  word  "soul." 

"God  bless  papa,"  suggested  the  mother,  and  the 
child  continued  volubly: 

"God  bless  papa,  God  bless  mama,  God  bless  Jim, 
God  bless  uncle  Harry,  God  bless  Lena — God  bless 
every  peoples !" 

"You  forgot  dear  sister  Aggie,"  whispered  the 
mother. 

"Aggie  pulled  my  Hair,"  pouted  the  child. 

"Dorothy,  say,  'God  bless  Aggie,'  this  very  mo- 
ment." 

"God  bless  Aggie — there!  Will  you  lie  down 
wiv  me,  mama  ?  Will  you  lie  down  wiv  me  ?" 

When  the  first  frenzy  of  Dolly's  jealousy  had 
somewhat  subsided,  it  occurred  to  her  that  perhaps 
she  was  making  a  mountain  out  of  a  molehill,  and 
the  thought  filled  her  with  a  joy  so  keen  that  she 
laughed  hysterically.  But  the  feeling  was  only 


MISCHIEF   IN   A   LETTER  315 

transient ;  and  the  steady  pain  and  fear  settled  down 
upon  her  that  this  attractive,  wicked  woman  was 
plotting  against  her  happiness.  Of  the  outcome 
of  such  a  campaign,  her  modesty  left  little  doubt. 
One  thing  she  knew,  that  she  was  too  proud  and 
self-respecting  to  mention  the  matter  to  Edward. 
She  would  suffer  in  silence  and  watch — watch  with 
that  superhuman  keenness  which  is  the  gift  of  jeal- 
ous people. 

As  the  days  went  by  she  became  more  and  more 
miserable,  till  it  seemed  as  though  she  must  cry 
out;  but  she  kept  to  Her  resolve,  and  suffered  in 
silence  with  a  heroism  of  which  no  man  that  ever 
lived  would  have  been  capable.  At  last,  it  seemed 
as  though  she  saw  confirmation  of  her  fears  in  her 
husband's  most  ordinary  actions.  If  he  dressed 
with  particular  care,  or  cleaned  his  teeth  with  more 
tKan  usual  thoroughness,  she  was  sure  that  he  was 
preparing  to  meet  Nellie.  If  he  refused  onions  or 
food  cooked  with  them,  the  wretched  woman 
thought  of  faithless  kisses.  Crissey  was  so  very 
busy  that  he  did  not  see. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

ONE    SORT    OF    POET 

The  Crisseys  ceased  to  invite  the  Chapins  to  their 
house,  and,  as  a  consequence,  Harry  found  himself 
more  isolated  than  ever.  Except  for  the  dull  rout- 
ine of  his  business  and  occasional  talks  with  Gehrke, 
whose  matrimonial  aspirations  never  quite  ma- 
terialized, he  was  compelled  to  fall  back  upon  the 
simple  and  kind-hearted  Roths  for  his  only  human 
intercourse.  Fritz  and  Bismarck  Goethe  were  a 
great  comfort  to  him.  Once,  during  Nellie's  ab- 
sence in  the  country,  he  even  brought  Bismarck 
Goethe  down  to  sleep  with  him.  The  experiment 
caused  him  to  lie  awake  all  night,  as  the  little  fel- 
low was  an  active  sleeper.  Harry  was  fairly  black 
and  blue  in  the  morning  from  the  sturdy  kicks  and 
punches  received  from  the  boy's  hands  and  feet, 
i  "You'd  think  he  was  a  jumpin'-jack,"  he  ex- 
plained when  he  took  him  back  to  his  mother,  "and 
that  somebody  was  under  the  bed  yanking  the  string 
all  nigKt.  And  what  beats  me  is  that  he  seems 
rested." 


ONE   SORT   OF   POET  317 

Bismarck  Goethe  had  a  way,  too,  of  drawing  his 
feet  up  to  his  head  and  throwing  himself  bodily 
outside  the  covers.  If  Harry  dozed  off  for  a  mo- 
ment, he  was  sure  to  hear  loud  sneezing  and  to  find 
his  charge  entirely  uncovered  and  cold  as  a  frog. 

When  the  concert  of  the  factory  whistles  was 
heard  the  little  chap  sat  up  straight  as  a  ramrod 
and  bright  as  a  dollar  and  cried : 

"Seben  o'clock.     Mans  goes  to  work." 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  manage  to  live  and  do 
all  your  work,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Roth,  "without  any 
sleep  at  all." 

"Oh,  I  sleep  all  right,"  replied  the  mother,  smil- 
ing sweetly  and  giving  the  boy  a  hug.  "I  keep 
him  covered  without  waking  up  at  all.  I'm — I'm 
used  to  it." 

Ah,  the  love  in  a  good  woman's  heart  blossoms 
into  so  many  sweet  uses  and  makes  so  many  things 
possible ! 

Of  one  episode  of  the  night  Harry  cautioned 
Bismarck  Goethe  not  to  tell  his  mother,  and  had 
received  a  faithful,  solemn-eyed  promise.  Imagine 
Harry's  dismay  when  the  boy  cried  out  as  soon  as 
he  entered  his  home: 

"Oh,  mama,  I  fell  down  the  cracker,  and  I  prom- 
ised uncle  Harry  not  to  tell !" 

"He  fell  between  the  bed  and  the  wall  with  a  tre- 


318      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

mendous  bump,"  explained  Harry,  "and  I  was 
frightened  to  death.  I  expected  to  hear  you  come 
a-running  downstairs.  As  long  as  you  didn't,  I 
saw  no  reason  for  worrying  you  about  it." 

"Oh,  it's  not  the  first  time,"  laughed  the  mother. 

With  Roth,  Harry  had  little  in  common  save  the 
comradeship  and  mutual  recognition  of  two  good 
hearts.  The  German,  in  addition  to  his  family  and 
his  music,  was  the  fortunate  possessor  of  a  fad, 
and  there  is  nothing  like  a  fad  to  keep  a  man  from 
growing  stale.  Postage  stamps  are  better  than 
dry-rot,  and  coins  have  saved  many  a  soul  from 
utter  weariness. 

Being  a  poet  by  nature,  it  was  natural  that  the 
German  should  turn  his  attention  to  the  cultiva- 
tion of  flowers.  Back  of  the  house  he  had  fenced 
in  a  tiny  patch  of  sand  with  a  wire  screen ;  and 
there,  every  spring,  he  wheeled  barrows  of  soil 
from  a  distant  hollow  where  the  leaves  collected 
and  rotted.  He  found  more  pleasure  in  a  deposit 
of  thoroughly  decayed  fertilizer,  where  a  neighbor's 
hen-house  once  stood,  than  a  miner  would  have 
experienced  in  striking  a  rich  pocket  of  gold.  He 
told  his  wife  about  it  mysteriously,  and  arose  at 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning  to  secure  the  whole 
precious  bed. 

Harry  tried  to  get  interested  in  Roth's  flowers, 


ONE   SORT   OF   POET  319 

but  he  could  not  even  remember  the  names  of  them. 
The  German  had  a  wire  frame  set  up  in  a  sunny 
window  in  the  dining  room,  whereon  were  a  num- 
ber of  pots  containing  plants  that  actually  bloomed 
in  the  most  inclement  weather.  He  talked  with  a 
will  of  Dutch  bulbs,  of  cuttings,  of  transplantings ; 
and  Harry  listened  with  the  interest  of  one  who 
hears  a  foreign  language  which  he  would  like  to 
understand  but  can  not.  He  even  took  several  tiny 
pots  down  to  his  own  rooms  containing  cuttings 
or  little  green  noses  that  were  poking  inquiringly 
into  the  world,  but  the  plants  always  died,  despite 
the  German's  minute  directions  and  enthusiastic 
predictions  as  to  their  possibilities. 

"This,"  said  the  German,  one  Sunday  morning 
early  in  March,  "is  the  poet's  narcissus,"  and  he 
ran  one  of  the  long,  slender  leaves  affectionately 
between  his  finger  and  thumb. 

"What  poet?"  asked  Harry.  "Have  you  given 
it  away?" 

Roth  laughed.  "The  narcissus  of  ancient  poetry. 
You  know  the  legend?  They  say  that  a  beautiful 
youth  his  image  so  much  admired  while  looking  in 
a  fountain  that  he  was  at  last  changed  into  that 
flower." 

"He  was  so  stuck  on  himself  tHat  he  just  stood 
there  and  took  root,  eh  ?  That's  the  kind  of  a  chap 


320      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

that  fellow  Dare  is,  who  is  downstairs  talking  with 
my  wife.  I  believe  he'd  take  root  before  a  looking- 
glass,  if  he  was  standing  out  doors." 

"Mr.  Dare  is  a  great  artist,"  explained  Roth. 
"Artists  have  some  right  to  be  vain." 

"Oh,  Dare's  all  right,"  hastily  rejoined  Harry, 
his  good  heart  coming  to  the  fore.  "He  always 
treats  me  all  right;  only  I  can't  bear  to  hear  him 
and  my  wife  chinning  together  about  books  and  art 
and  French  and  one  thing  and  another.  They 
make  me  tired.  I  always  get  out." 

"See  how  these  little  flowers  are  like  stars,"  said 
Roth.  "And  there  are  many  other  blooms  that  are 
like  stars  shaped.  I  sometimes  look  out  of  my 
window  at  night,  and  think  that  the  stars  are  blos- 
soms of  great  plants  growing  in  the  sky.  If  I 
look  close,  I  can  see  narcissus  stems,  and  branch- 
ing sprays  of  the  Star-of-Bethlehem  and  the  vines 
of  the  trailing  clematis." 

When  Roth  talked  like  this  there  was  a  far-away 
look  in  his  blue  eyes,  and  his  face  was  flushed  with 
eagerness. 

"Oh,  how  can  any  one  be  unhappy  in  the  world," 
he  cried,  "when  love  is  to  all  free,  and  the  blessed 
flowers,  and  the  stars  ?  These — do  you  know  what 
these  are?" 


ONE   SORT   OF   POET  321 

"Yes — no — I've  forgot  again.  You  tell  me 
every  time  I  come  up." 

"This  is  a  hyacinth.  Beautiful,  beautiful  thing! 
Schonf  schon!  And  they  grow  in  a  wonderful 
variety  of  colors;  dark  red,  rosy  red,  white,  pink, 
lavender,  blue.  AK,  your  Mister  Dare  should  not 
be  proud.  There  is  no  artist  living  who  can  colors 
mix  like  trie  good  God  who  makes  and  paints  the 
flowers.  This  arrangement  of  blossoms  is  called 
a  spike." 

"It  looks  more  like  a  lamp-chimney  cleaner,"  sug- 
gested Harry. 

Roth  laughed  immoderately,  and  went  to  the 
kitchen  door  with  the  pot  in  his  hand. 

"See  here,  Schats"  he  cried ;  "see  here,  Liebchen; 
Mr.  Chapin  says  these  would  make  good  lamp- 
chimney  cleaners.  Ah,  Ke  is  no  poet — our  Harry !" 

"All  these  flowers,"  he  continued,  coming  back 
and  setting  the  pot  tenderly  again  in  its  place  in 
the  frame,  "are  from  bulbs.  Do  you  know  what 
a  wonderful  thing  is  a  bulb?  It  looks  like  a  po- 
tato or  an  onion,  and  can  be  sent  to  any  part  of  the 
world.  Yet  in  its  little  heart  is  stored  a  treasury  of 
beauty,  grace,  perfume,  and  tenderness.  See  these 
Easter  lilies — they  slept  in  a  homely  bulb — all  their 
fragrance,  their  holy  promises,  their  memories  of 


322      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT  ROAD 

the  good  Jesus,  who  in  the  beauty  of  the  lilies 
came." 

"A  bulb  is  something:  like  a  seed,  isn't  it  ?"  asked 
Harry. 

"A  seed,  too,  is  a  wonderful  thing,"  assented  the 
German. 

Among  Roth's  other  plants  were  a  wandering 
jew  that  trailed  floonvard  from  the  mouth  of  a  beer 
bottle,  a  pot  of  pale  pink  begonias  with  yellow 
stamens,  some  English  primroses  of  faint,  exquisite 
fragrance,  and  two  or  three  tiny  clusters  of  violets. 

"These  are  for  my  wife,"  he  said.  "I  used  to 
bring  her  the  first  violets  of  spring  when  I  was  to 
her  making  court.  This  one,  it  is  ready;  I  will 
give  it  to  her  now." 

Cutting  the  dainty  stem  of  a  single  flower  that 
seemed  most  perfect,  he  went  into  the  kitchen, 
where  the  little  woman  was  busy  at  the  table  with 
the  sleeves  rolled  back  from  her  plump  arms,  and 
held  it  before  her  with  courtly  grace,  in  fat,  but 
not  clumsy,  fingers.  She  spoke  not  a  word,  but  a 
blush  suffused  the  slightly  disfigured  face,  and  a 
meaning  look  came  into  the.  Hazel-sHy,  and  tender 
eyes. 

It  was  the  first  violet  of  spring;  and  they  were 
young  lovers  again — always. 


ONE   SORT   OF   POET  323 

She  held  up  her  mouth  for  a  kiss,  and  he  put  the 
flower  into  her  soft,  brown  hair. 

'"Come  out  here,"  cried  Roth  to  Harry,  "and  I'll 
show  you  what  I  shall  with  my  garden  make  this 
spring." 

From  the  back  porch,  the  German  explained  to 
Harry  how  the  little  patch  of  ground  would  soon 
be  beautiful  with  snowdrops  and  crocuses,  and 
later  with  a  bed  of  tulips,  daffodils  and  hyacinths ; 
and  he  ran  through,  counting  them  off  on  his 
fingers,  the  flowers  th'at  could  be  kept  blooming  in 
succession  up  till  fall. 

"Do  you  see  that  dead  tree  there  in  one  corner  ?" 
he  asked.  "It  has  no  roots.  I  set  it  there  myself, 
and  I  shall  make  it  to  life  come.  I  shall  plant  at 
the  bottom  some  morning-glory  seeds,  and  you 
shall  see  what  a  beautiful  tree  it  will  be  before  the 
winter  comes  again.  And" — here  he  laughed  mys- 
teriously and  whispered  in  Harry's  ear — "there  is 
one  thing  that  you  must  not  Mrs.  Roth  tell.  I 
shall  plant  a  sweet  pea  vine  below  this  window, 
and  shall  a  string  run  up  here.  And  some  day, 
when  it  has  got  well  started,  I  shall  tell  her  that  it 
is  coming  up  to  see  her,  and  that  it  is  her  Romeo. 
Oh,  I  shall  make  that  I  am  very  jealous.  Did  you 
ever  see  a  vine  climb  a  string?" 


324      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"Well,  I  know  that  they  do  go  up,  but  I  never 
noticed  particularly  Kow  they  do  it." 

"They  reach  out  little  hands,"  explained  the  Ger^ 
man,  "and  come  up  like  a  boy  climbing  a  rope  at  a 
picnic — 'hand  over  hand.'  " 

"They  almost  seem  to  think,  don't  they?"  asked 
Harry. 

"Think?"  cried  RotH.  "Tfiink?  They  have 
souls!" 

Fritz  was  seated  on  the  floor  with  his  tin  sol- 
diers drawn  up  in  line.  They  were  Spaniards,  and 
he  had  planted  a  toy  cannon  at  a  considerable  dis- 
tance. Every  second  he  cried  "Bang!"  and  dis- 
charged a  marble,  causing  vast  damage  in  the  ranks 
of  the  enemy. 

Bismarck  Goethe  was  busily  engaged  in  taking 
articles  from  a  tall  soiled-clothes  basket  in  the  cor- 
ner, loudly  calling  the  name  of  each  garment  as  he 
deposited  it  on  the  floor.  As  Harry  re-entered  the 
room,  the  boy  asked  his  mother : 

"Are  you  making  tapiloca  pudding,  mama?" 

"Come  here,  Bismarck,"  commanded  his  father. 
But  tHe  sturdy  urchin  replied: 

"I  got  else  to  do,"  and  continued  his  catalogue. 

"Them's  my-  'drawrzes ;  that's  papa's  shirt ;  that's 
Fritz's  nighty ;  them's  mama's — " 

"Go  ft  im  Himmel!"  exclaimed  tKe  mother,  blush- 


ONE   SORT   OF   POET  325 

ing  furiously  and  making  a  dash  for  the  boy.  The 
father  picked  him  up,  laughing,  and  dropped  him 
into  the  basket,  shutting  the  cover  down  over  his 
head. 

"Come  info  the  front  room  and  Hear  my  poem, 
that  I  made  up  myself,"  he  said,  taking  Harry  by 
the  arm  and  leading  him  away. 

"Do  you  write  poetry  ?"  asked  Harry. 

"When  the  springtime  comes,  I  feel  like  it.  But 
I  do  not  know  the  English  so  well.  However,  I 
write  better  than  I  speak." 

Fumbling  in  his  pocket,  he  produced  a  piece  of 
soiled,  yellow  paper,  and  read: 

'When  springtime  waves  her  wand 

O'er  budding  bush  and  tree, 
Mine  heart  grows  young  again 
'And  buds  in  poetry. 

'Green  memories  that  grief 

'And  time  can  never  wrong, 
They  swell  within  my  breast 

And  blossom  into  song!" 

"That  seems  all  righ't,"  said  Harry. 

"The  thought  is  not  so  bad?"  asked  Roth  anx- 
iously. 

Just  then  Bridget  knocked  a?  the  door  and  an- 
nounced that  dinner  was  ready.  Harry  wen?  'down 
to  eat  his  Sunday  dinner  with  his  wife  and  Dare. 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

A  LOTHARIO  OF  FIFTY 

In  the  latter  days  of  MarcK,  Gifford  Dare,  artist, 
esthete,  and  cynic,  definitely  made  up  his  mind  to 
leave  town.  For  some  time  he  had  felt  the  old 
Wanderlust  growing  in  him  which  seizes  every  man 
who  is  not  tied  down  to  a  woman  and  babies.  The 
whitecaps,  far  out  in  the  Lake,  as  he  stood  in  his 
study  window  and  watched  them  dreamily,  seemed 
to  him  fairy  hands  beckoning  him  away,  away. 
The  voice  of  the  plashing  waves,  if  he  wandered 
down  by  the  shore  on  a  warm  evening,  whispered 
to  him  of  Venice,  of  the  South  Sea  Isles,  of  the 
housetops  of  Fez. 

The  girl  with  the  red-gold  hair  was  in  all  these 
dreams;  and  he  continually  thought  of  taking  her 
away  with  him  to  the  Mediterranean  or  the  Pacific, 
and  of  living  with  her  in  tropic  dishabille  and  law- 
less leisure  amid  palm  groves  or  in  an  orient  gar- 
den. 

Yet  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  knew  tHat  this 
326 


A   LOTHARIO   OF   FIFTY  327 

course  could  not  lead  to  happiness.  He  was  a  true 
esthete ;  and  every  lover  of  the  beautiful  has  some- 
thing like  conscience,  has  a  perception,  at  least,  of 
the  comeliness  of  honor  and  manliness.  He  felt 
that  it  was  a  cowardly  and  an  ugly  thing  to  steal  an- 
other man's  wife. 

And  so  he  meant  to  go  away  and  forget  Nellie ; 
and  he  finally  fixed  upon  Venice.  For  this  city 
most  appealed  to  him,  and  the  Venetian  sketches 
which  he  had  painted  there  long  ago  had  been  the 
beginning  of  his  career. 

The  more  he  thought  of  Venice,  the  more  dis- 
gusting the  inland  city  climate  and  background  be- 
came to  him.  He  was  sick  of  the  suns  that  were 
tin  foil  one  day  and  red  blood  the  next.  He  was 
tired  of  the  grim,  gray  buildings  swathed  in  dirty 
smoke  that  made  them  unreal  and  evanescent,  like 
the  piles  and  battlements  of  some  great  citadel  of 
the  infernal  world. 

And  a  man  who  has  fairly  rounded  fifty  becomes 
a  sort  of  human  barometer,  responding  with  the 
greatest  delicacy  to  sudden  changes  of  climate. 
Just  two  weeks  ago  Roth  was  writing  his  spring 
song,  and  was  thinking  of  beginning  his  out-of- 
doors  garden;  and  little  children  were  wing-danc- 
ing on  the  streets.  This  year's  kites  were  already 
Hanging  tp  the  telegraph  wires. 


328      THE  LONG   STRAIGHT  ROAD 

The  sun  was  shining  brightly  on  the  day  when 
the  German  felt  th'e  tender  buds  of  poetry  swelling 
in  his  heart.  But  the  sun  really  stayed  but  a  few 
hours ;  and  then  followed  a  week  of  fine  rain,  and 
weather  so  dark  that  people  living  in  undetached 
houses  were  obliged  to  light  the  gas  in  all  rooms 
except  the  one  facing  the  street.  A  sky  slate- 
blue,  with  a  few  reddish  yellow  leaves  hung  to  the 
black,  barren  branches  of  the  trees.  The  last  time 
that  the  artist  had  gone  to  Nellie's  house  he  had 
been  oppressed  by  the  dulness  and  bleakness  of 
everything  out  of  doors.  The  line  of  trees  down 
George  Avenue  struck  him  as  dead,  and  the  strag- 
gling bevies  of  sparrows  that  drifted  through  their 
branches,  as  though  wind-blown,  were  as  black  as 
ink.  Roofs,  terra-cotta  or  a  shade  of  dull  brown ; 
acres  of  drifted  sand;  and  the  slate-blue  Lake 
swathed  in  mist  and  melting  in  the  indefinite  sky. 

It  was  warmer  then,  but  now  winter  had  again 
closed  his  iron  fist  tight  upon  the  vitals  of  the  world ; 
and  Dare  saw  a  true  arctic  scene  from  his  studio 
window,  and  he  shivered  as  he  looked.  No  amount 
of  hair-dye  can  make  the  blood  warm  in  the  veins. 

He  had  closed  his  bachelor  apartments,  and 
stored  his  furniture,  and  was  sleeping  for  the  last 
nights  in  his  studio.  Wrapped  in  a  woolen  bath 
robe,  he  stood,  yerj;  early  one  morning,  looking  out 


A   LOTHARIO   OF    FIFTY  329 

of  his  window,  watching  for  the  sun  to  rise.  The 
streets  were  deserted,  save  for  an  occasional  cab 
taking  some  gambler  home  from  an  all-night  poker 
game.  A  train  rushed  by  on  the  unsightly  tracks 
that  deface  the  Lake  front  at  this  point,  sobbing  out 
puffs  of  smoke  that  might  well  have  been  some 
fleeing  dragon's  breath  made  visible  by  the  cold. 

When  he  first  looked  down  upon  the  Lake,  it  was 
merely  a  dull  leaden  surface,  something  flat  in  a 
world  of  shadowy  forms.  THen  it  grew  a  steel 
color,  and  slight  irregularities  took  shape  upon  it. 
The  sun  at  last  seemed  to  burn  its  way  into  the 
mist,  low  down,  a  dim  yellow  ball,  not  larger  than 
an  orange.  It  touched  th'e  world  with  a  long, 
slender,  yellow  pencil. 

And  the  ball  grew  and  grew  until  it  became  a 
huge  golden  shield,  a  hundred  feet  in  diameter, 
with  tattered  edges.  The  orange  had  been  a  coal, 
and  a  wind  from  the  Lake  was  blowing  upon  it  and 
making  it  a  fire.  A  beautiful  yellow  radiance  per- 
vaded the  vicinity  of  the  shield,  shading  off  into 
colder  colors  in  the  distance,  to  dull  purple,  lemon, 
slate.  The  surface  of  tKe  Lake  took  definite  char- 
acter and  became  an  arctic  scene,  with  th'e  summits 
of  a  thousand  ice  floes  tipped  with  yellow. 

"Ugh !"  said  Dare,  drawing  his  robe  more  closely 
about  his  shriveled  form,  "there  ought  to  be  a  big 


330      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

polar  bear  slouching  across  there,  with  his  head 
low  down,  swinging  from  side  to  side." 

As  the  minutes  passed,  the  center  of  the  great 
shield  brightened,  till  at  last  the  face  of  the  sun 
itself  blazed  there,  a  disk  of  burnished  brass,  in- 
tolerably bright,  whose  circumference  was  marked 
by  a  plainly  drawn  circle  of  dull  gold.  The  frozen 
Lake  glittered  like  silver. 

"That's  worth  painting,"  mused  Dare;  "but  if 
couldn't  be  done,  because  the  chief  element  in  the 
effect  is  change.  There  was  all  the  hush  and  ex- 
pectancy in  the  pageant  that  one  sees  in  grand 
opera,  where  the  appearance  of  some  great  dig- 
nitary is  preceded  by  triumphal  music,  and  the  en- 
trance upon  the  stage  of  troops  with  banners,  retain- 
ers, peasants,  and  so  forth.  One  might  show  it 
by  a  series  of  tableaux ;  but  then,  nobody  would  be- 
lieve it.  No,  Dare,  old  boy,  Venice  is  more  nearly 
your  size." 

With  a  yawn  he  turned  away  from  the  window, 
muttering : 

"It's  a  shame  the  sun  gets  up  so  early ;  if  it  rose, 
say,  about  ten  o'clock,  a  fellow  could  assist  at  the 
ceremony  more  frequently  than  twice  a  year.  Well, 
that's  the  last  sunrise  I'll  see  here  for  many  a  day." 

He  returned  to  his  couch  and  slept  till  nearly 
noon.  Then  he  arose  for  the  day  and  made  a  care- 


A   LOTHARIO    OF   FIFTY  331 

ful  and  studied  toilet.  He  had  determined  to  pay 
a  farewell  visit  to  Nellie,  and  his  masculine  vanity 
prompted  him  to  leave  as  favorable  and  lasting  an 
impression  on  her  as  possible. 

"Few  men  of  my  age  would  be  successful  if  they 
went  courting  in  their  nightshirts,"  he  soliloquized 
as  he  stood  critically  regarding  his  reflection  in  a 
full-length  mirror,  with  his  mind  on  the  cos- 
tume of  the  day,  much  as  Roth  had  studied  the 
dead  tree  which  he  proposed  to  dress  in  morning- 
glory  vines. 

"What  an  opener  of  whited  sepulchres  matrimony 
must  be!"  he  mused.  "The  only  people  who  ever 
approached  it  from  the  right  standpoint  were  the 
ancient  Spartans,  who  gave  their  young  couples  a 
glimpse  at  each  other  in  nature's  garb  before  they 
were  spliced  for  life.  No  civilized  nation  has  this 
commendable  custom  to-day,  though  the  same 
thing  exists  in  effect  among  the  South  Sea  Island- 
ers. Jove!  Imagine  the  lifelong  sorrow  and  dis- 
appointment of  an  esthete,  a  true  lover  of  the 
beautiful,  who  imagines  that  he  is  marrying  a 
Venus,  and  finds  out  when  it  is  eternally  too  late 
that  her  legs  are  too  short  for  her  body  or  that  her 
knees  are  ugly.  On  the  other  hand,  what  divine 
justice  is  there  in  such  a  combination  as  that  out 
at  my  friend  Chapin's?  What  right  Has  a  stupid, 


332      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

blind  yokel  to  possess  a  living,  God-wrought  statue 
like— like  Nellie?  Nellie?  I  should  call  her 
Helen." 

Dare's  eyes  were  gummy  with  the  exudations  of 
age;  his  cheeks  were  sallow;  his  hair  hung  straight 
down  over  his  forehead  unparted;  one  side  of  his 
jet-black  mustache,  the  side  upon  which  he  had 
been  sleeping,  drooped  thinly  over  his  colorless  lips 
like  the  broken  wing  of  a  crow.  His  nightshirt 
hung  loosely  about  his  thin  form. 

"Ugh!"  muttered  Dare;  "it's  devilish  hard  for 
an  artist  to  grow  old  gracefully.  He  might  do  it, 
though,  if  it  weren't  for  the  mornings.  I  wonder 
how  many  famous  beauties  would  look  like  nymphs 
coming  out  of  a  bath  when  they  first  wake  up  after 
a  night's  sleep?  Or,  say,  about  half  an  hour  be- 
fore they  wake  up  ?  How  many  have  sweet  breaths 
at  that  time?  Ah,  nothing  but  the  earliest  youth 
can  stand  that  test." 

An  hour  later,  Gifford  Dare  descended  to  the 
street,  young,  debonair,  picturesque,  erect.  He  took 
his  breakfast  at  a  cafe,  and  then  boarded  a  North 
Side  car,  to  say  good  by  to  the  girl  with  the  red- 
gold  hair;  and  then,  ho,  for  Venice! 

He  ascended  the  stairs  to  the  second  flat  with  a 
mingled  feeling  of  longing  and  regret.  His  heart 
beat  high  with  that  youthful  flurry  and  pride  which 


A   LOTHARIO   OF   FIFTY  333 

seizes  the  man  who  is  about  to  enter  the  presence 
of  the  woman  whom  he  loves  and  who  loves  him; 
he  was  oppressed  with  an  almost  intolerable  feel- 
ing of  homesickness  at  the  idea  of  leaving  her,  and 
,of  putting  behind  him  forever  his  last  flattering  ad- 
venture, his  last  chance  for  youth. 

Bridget  came  to  the  door.  "Yis ;  Mrs.  Chapin 
is  in.  Wull  ye  sit  down  and  wait  till  she  makes 
herself  ready?" 

He  laid  his  cloak  and  slouch  hat  upon  a  chair  and 
waited.  He  could  hear  her  moving  about  in  the 
bedroom,  and,  as  she  progressed  with  her  toilet,  he 
imagined  he  could  hear  the  rustling  of  feminine 
garments  as  she  put  them  on.  He  asked  himself 
if  she  had  let  her  splendid  hair  down. 

At  last  the  door  opened,  and  she  came  outf  all 
eagerness  and  strangely  agitated. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Dare,"  she  said,  advancing  and  extend- 
ing her  hand,  "it's  so  good  of  you  to  come  and  see 
me.  This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure." 

"It's  good  of  you  to  receive  me  at  this  uncon- 
ventional hour,"  he  replied,  losing  for  the  moment 
his  aplomb.  He  did  not  really  stop  to  think 
whether  the  hour  was  unconventional  or  not.  He 
stood  holding  her  hand  in  an  embarrassed  sort  of 
way,  and  said  inconsequentially : 

"I  met  your  landlady  downstairs.    Wfiat  an  ex- 


334      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAQ 

traordinarily  ugly  woman  she  is !  It  would  be  a 
shame  to  photograph  a  woman  like  that." 

"Do  you  think  she  would  break  the  camera?" 

"No ;  I'm  thinking  of  the  poor  sensitive  plate." 

Dare  was  too  agitated  to  notice  that  Nellie  did 
not  understand. 

"That's  a  desolate-looking  scene,  isn't  it  ?"  he  re- 
marked, pointing  to  the  Lake  as  they  sat  down  by 
the  window.  The  ice  hummocks  extended  as  far 
out  as  the  crib,  and  the  posts  of  the  half-ruined 
breakwater  had  become  giant  mushrooms  of  ice. 
In  an  open  space  a  berg  of  respectable  size  was 
floating  about. 

"This  is  the  worst  climate  on  earth,"  pursued 
Dare.  "You  couldn't  get  a  colder,  more  cheerless 
prospect  than  that  at  the  North  Pole,  nor  in  St. 
Petersburg.  St.  Petersburg!  Why,  that  city  is 
all  life,  all  animation  in  the  winter.  Then  the  Rus- 
sians begin  to  live.  Gaiety  reigns  everywhere. 
Splendid  teams  of  two  and  three  horses  dashing  by 
in  the  streets,  the  drivers  swinging  their  long  whips, 
the  ladies  wrapped  up  in  furs,  laughing  and  calling 
to  each  other  as  they  meet  and  pass." 

"How  lovely  it  must  be  to  have  traveled  as  mucK 
as  you  have !"  said  Nellie,  her  eyes  kindling. 

"Y-e-s,"  assented  Dare.  "It's  nice  to  travel  if 
one  has  a  congenial  companion  along,  but  there's 


A   LOTHARIO   OF    FIFTY  335 

nothing  more  wearisome  than  to  go  about  alone. 
Some  men  travel  for  diversion  after  a  great  sorrow. 
They  make  a  mistake.  They  had  better  stay  at 
home  among  their  friends — if  they  have  any  worthy 
of  the  name.  You  can  never  go  far  enough  to  get 
away  from  yourself,  and  there  is  no  loneliness  on 
earth  like  that  of  a  stranger  in  a  big  city — especially 
a  foreign  town.  But  to  travel  with  a  congenial 
companion,  to  share  the  delights  of  new  scenes  and 
new  impressions  with  some  one  that  you,  ah — like, 
that  is  one  of  the  greatest  delights  on  earth." 

"You  are  really  going  to  Naples  this  spring?" 
asked  Nellie. 

Dare  concluded  to  have  the  thing  over. 

"No,  to  Venice." 

"To— to  Venice?" 

She  paled  to  her  lips,  and  dug  both  her  hands 
into  the  arms  of  the  upholstered  chair  in  whicK  she 
was  sitting. 

"When?"  she  managed  to  ask  at  last  in  a  voice 
scarcely  above  a  whisper. 

Dare  glanced  at  her  and  turned  his  head  away. 

"I  start  within  a  week,"  he  replied,  talking  rap- 
idly and  attempting  to  assume  a  matter-of-fact 
tone.  "You  see,  I  made  a  success  quite  a  number  of 
years  ago  with  some  Venetian  sketches,  but  they 
were  crudev  I  have  always  had  the  dream  of  re- 


336      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

turning  to  the  city  sometime  when  I  had  acquired 
more  skill,  and  doing  it  right.  And  I  must  go  now 
or  never.  I  am  getting  old.  I  shall  never  see  forty 
again."  He  thought  it  would  make  it  easier  for 
her  if  he  spoke  of  his  age,  but  he  had  not  even 
then  the  courage  to  say  how  old  he  really  was.  "I 
can  not  stand  these  violent  changes  of  climate  as 
I  once  did — twenty  years  ago.  Now  you,  my  dear 
child,  at  your  age,  you  can  not  realize  how  these 
bitter  spring  winds  go  through"  a — a — middle-aged 
man  like  me."  There  was  a  feigned  lightness  in 
his  voice  that  would  have  been  deceptive  had  it  not 
been  pitched  on  too  high  a  note. 

Nellie  did  not  speak.  She  simply  looked  at  him 
like  a  deer  that  he  had  once  wounded.  He  had 
never  shot  anything  since,  because  such  a  look  in  the 
eyes  had  impressed  him  as  unbeautiful. 

"And  so  I  came  to  say  good  by,"  he  cried,  rising 
briskly  and  gathering  up  his  cloak  and  hat. 

Nellie  tottered  to  her  feet  and  stood  swaying. 
She  seemed  to  be  leaning  toward  him. 

She  did  not  extend  her  hand. 

"Won't  you  say  good  by  to  me?"  he  asked  ten- 
derly, his  cloak  thrown  over  his  left  arm  while  he 
offered  his  right  hand. 

"Good  by,"  she  said  huskily,  and  then  her  face 
became  distorted  like  a  child's  that  is  about  to  cry. 


A   LOTHARIO   OF   FIFTY  337 

He  seized  the  hand  that  hung  limply  by  her  side 
and  held  it  in  his  own  for  a  moment.  His  cloak 
and  hat  slipped  to  the  floor.  Then  he  took  her  in 
his  arms,  and  she  lay  sobbing  upon  his  breast. 

He  led  her  to  the  sofa  and  sat  down  beside  Her 
with  his  arm  about  her  waist.  She  pillowed  her 
head  upon  his  shoulder ;  and  thus  they  sat  for  sev- 
eral minutes,  she  weeping  convulsively,  he  gazing 
straight  ahead  and  trying  to  think. 

Strangely  enough,  his  mind  took  in  little  details 
of  the  objects  within  his  visual  angle — a  French"  ex- 
ercise book  upon  a  red  table  cloth,  a  cheap  lamp  with 
a  big  globe,  the  frightful  paper  on  the  walls,  the 
black,  naked  limbs  of  a  tree  beyond  the  window. 

She  moved,  and  the  red-gold  hair  was  pressed 
softly  against  his  neck.  SHe  smiled  sadly  when  Ke 
lifted  her  chin  with  his  hand,  and  she  returned  the 
kisses  which  he  pressed  upon  her  lips. 
I  At  last  he  rose  briskly  and,  bending  over  Her, 
took  both  her  hands  in  his. 

"I  leave,"  lie  said,  "Saturday  evening  for  New 
York  on  the  Michigan  Central,  and  you  are  coming 
with  me.  Listen,  Nellie — " 

"Yes." 

"Don't  trouble  to  pack  many  things — it  might  ex- 
cite suspicion.    Just  a  grip  will  do.    I'll  let  you  . 
know  the  exact  hour  of  the  train's  departure,  and 


338      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROA0 

you  can  meet  me  at  the  depot.  I'll  drop  you  a  note 
not  later  than  Friday.  I  don't  think  I'd  better  come 
out  here  again." 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  once  more,  then  pulled 
her  to  her  feet,  crying  with  forced  gaiety : 

"Don't  cry  any  more,  little  woman.  We  shall 
be  very  happy.  And  now  I  must  go." 

She  followed  him  to  the  door  sobbing : 

"It's  so  wrong !" 

"Don't  think  of  that,  Nellie.  We  can't  help  it. 
We  tried  to,  but  we  couldn't." 

As  he  turned  the  knob  she  laid  both  hands  upon 
his  shoulder  and  looked  yearningly  at  him,  her  face 
paling  with  a  sudden  terror  that  changed  on  the 
instant  to  shame.  All  the  blood  in  her  body  seemed 
to  flood  her  pallid  cheeks  as  she  hid  her  forehead 
in  his  breast,  murmuring  hoarsely : 

"Will  you  marry  me  as  soon  as  I  am  free  ?  Will 
you,  Gifford?  Promise  me  this,  and  I  will  go." 

A  man  promises  anything  at  such  times. 

"Of  course,"  he  replied,  "if — if  you  want  me 
to." 

"If  I  want  you  to !  I  wouldn't  go  else.  I'm  not 
a  bad  woman,  Gifford. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
ANOTHER  SORT  OF  POET 

Dare  was  shaking  so  when  he  reached  the  street 
that  he  turned  instinctively  to  the  saloon  on  the 
corner  for  a  glass  of  brandy,  muttering : 

"Well,  I'ye  done  it,  after  all,  or  rather  it  did  it- 
self ;  and  I'm  not  going  to  have  any  qualms  over  it. 
No  man  of  my  temperament,  fifty  years  old,  can 
resist  a  beautiful  woman  who  loves  him.  Venality 
is  always  ugly,  but  there  isn't  the  least  bit  of  venal- 
ity in  this.  The  love  of  a  beautiful  woman  is  the 
most  beautiful  thing  on  earth.  Man  made  God  in 
his  own  image,  and  the  gods  of  the  old  Greeks,  the 
only  nation  of  artists  that  the  world  ever  saw,  sim- 
ply couldn't  resist  this  sort  of  thing.  Bah!  I'm 
no  puritan.  Puritanism  is  the  ugliness  of  re- 
ligion." 

As  he  lifted  his  drink  to  his  lips  with  shaking 
hand  he  reflected : 

"No  gentleman  would  poison  his  friend's  dog, 
or  steal  his  money ;  but  almost  any  man  would  win 
his  friend's  wife — if  he  got  the  chance." 
339 


340      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

Later  the  thought  comforted  him  that  Harry  was 
not  his  friend. 

"I've  only  been  polite  to  Him,"  he  mused.  "If 
he  were  my  friend,  now,  or  I  had  posed  as  such,  it 
would  be  different.  I  couldn't  do  that.  No,  I'm 
no  such  damned  villain  as  that." 

Despite  the  brandy,  his  teeth  chattered  with  the 
cold  as  he  stood  on  tKe  corner  waiting  for  the  elec- 
tric car. 

"I  believe  we'll  go  to  Algiers,"  he  mused.  "I've 
told  so  many  people  that  I'm  going  to  Venice.  Yes, 
it'll  be  better  to  go  somewhere  else  and  wait  till 
the  world  gets  a  little  bit  accustomed  to  this  thing. 
U-g-g-fi,"  he  chattered,  "Algiers  and  Nellie  will 
be  better  than  this."  And  he  thought  of  th'e  ori- 
ental background;  and  the  different  costumes  in 
which"  Ke  would  paint  his  living  statue,  his  odal- 
isque, his  Cleopatra,  his  Gulnare. 

By  the  time  he  again  reached  his  studio,  all  the 
promptings  of  Eis  rudimentary  conscience  were 
silenced,  and  he  Had  become  cynical,  selfish,  and 
atheistic. 

"Pshaw!"  Ke  sneered,  as  he  pulled  down  the 
Kiskilm  curtains  from  the  door  of  the  alcove,  "we 
make  a  mistake  in  taking  ourselves  too  seriously. 
This  world  is  only  a  great  cheese,  after  all,  and 
men  and  women  breed  on  it  like  maggots." 


ANOTHER   SORT   OF   POET        341 

The  action  let  a  shaft  o'f  afternoon  sun  info  the 
studio  that  fell  upon  BodenKausen's  Madonna 
hanging  on  the  wall,  and  tinted  the  cataract  of 
loosened  hair  with  gold.  Dare  started,  and  re- 
mained standing  before  the  picture  worshiping. 

"That's  the  way  Helen's  hair  would  look  if  she 
were  to  let  it  down,"  he  mused.  "I  never  see  a 
beautiful  woman,  anyway,  that  I  don't  want  to  un- 
fasten her  hair.  This  chap  Bodenhausen,  Madonna 
painter,  must  have  a  little  of  the  sensual  in  him. 
Well,  "damn  it,  tKat's  all  right.  You  can't  think 
of  the  ideal  woman  with  any  degree  of  physical  re- 
pugnance. You  can't  see  her,  whether  she  be  Ma- 
donna or  Venus,  without  wanting  to  carry  her  off 
and  break  any  possible  rival's  head  with  a  club, 
in  the  good  old  primitive  fashion.  That's  the  way 
God  or  Jupiter,  or  Nature,  or  whoever  he  or  it  is, 
made  us. 

"But  beauty  has  a  Higher  attraction,  too.  Being 
an  expression  of  perfection,  it  lifts  us  toward  the 
Eternal  Divine,  which  revels  in  perfections.  What 
a  soft  yielding  body  this  Madonna  has — and  the 
artist  has  had  the  good  sense  to  paint  her  without 
shoes.  Those  feet  are  the  climax  of  the  whole 
composition.  Not  too  small,  but  warm,  fragrant, 
rosy,  shapely.  I  should  like  to  take  this  one  in 
my  hand.  Whaf  is  it  that  Sir  John  says? 


342      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT  ROAD 

"Her  feet  beneath  her  petticoat 
Like  little  mice  stole  in  and  out. 

"Hum.  Tfiat's  not  right,  Sir  John,  not  right. 
You've  got  them  entirely  too  small,  though  the  lines 
are  dainty  and  have  made  you  immortal. 

"By  showing  these  feet,  Bodenhausen  has  given 
us  an  impression  of  perfection  in  all  details.  What 
a  horror  this  thing  would  be  if  Mary  had  a  bunion, 
or  if  her  second  toe  were  too  short!  Ugh!  I 
should  have  pitched  her  out  o'  the  window  long  ere 
this." 

He  glanced  again  at  the  hair,  still  touched  by 
the  red  sun.  Then  he  stooped  and  kissed  one  of  the 
feet. 

"I  pay  you  this  tribute,  Mary — Helen,"  he  mut- 
tered, "I  am  always  willing  to  kiss  the  feet  of 
beauty. 

"What  an  ass  is  the  man  who  asks  whether  or  not 
a  fair  woman  has  brains !  You  might  as  well  ask 
it  of  a  statue  or  a  picture.  All  beautiful  creations 
have  brains — the  brains  of  the  man  or  the  God  who 
made  them!" 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  HAPPIEST   MAN 

Two  days  later  Mr.  Dare  was  picking  His  way 
daintily  along  La  Salle  Street.  Though  but  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  it  was  already  growing 
dark,  and  the  electric  lights  were  gleaming  fiercely 
in  the  back  offices  and  basements.  The  temperature 
had  risen  twenty  degrees  during  the  night,  and 
a  rain,  fine  as  spray,  was  persistently  falling.  The 
walk  was  swimming  in  a  thin  coating  of  black  filth, 
and  the  Horses  were  slipping  on  the  greasy  cobble- 
tones.  The  vast  canon  of  the  street  was  filled  with 
a  steady  roar  and  clatter  that  went  up  to  the  nar- 
row lane  of  dirty  sky  above.  Shouts  and  broken 
fragments  of  speech  flew  off  from  the  plutonian 
hum  like  bits  from  a  roaring  wheel. 

A  ragged  little  newsboy  scurried  past  in  frantic 
haste  to  reach  his  favorite  corner,  crying  witH  in- 
domitable lungs  the  five-o'clock  edition  of  an  after- 
noon sheet :  "All  about  the  turrible  murder  on  the 
West  Side!" 

343 


344      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD. 

The  driver  of  a  street  car,  delayed  by  an  apathetic 
van,  clanged  his  bell  hopelessly. 

The  contour  of  the  buildings  loomed  blackly  from 
the  all-pervading  gray.  There  was  a  raw  feeling 
in  the  air,  as  of  the  wind  from  melting  ice.  The 
throng  on  the  street  at  this  Jiour  consisted  mostly 
of  men;  and  tfie  artist  noticed  with  a  shudder  that 
they  were  all  talking  about  money,  entirely  oblivious 
of  their  surroundings. 

Once,  a  face,  fresh  as  a  flower,  peeped  out  at 
him  from  the  hood  of  a  rain-coat,  and  a  pair  of 
roguish  eyes  looked  innocently  and  fearlessly  into 
his.  He  felt  an  interested  thrill,  the  emotion  of  an 
old  beau  who  Has  made  a  conquest  and  is  conscious 
that  he  is  still  a  devil  of  a  fellow  among  the  women. 
Let  the  sex  look  out  for  themselves  1  Had  not  the 
fairest  of  them  all  fallen  before  fcis  irresistible 
charms  ? 

And,  indeed,  any  lady  with'  the  faintest  streak  of 
adventure  in  her  nature,  might  have  taken  a  second, 
look  at  him  this  afternoon,  for  he  had  certainly  ef- 
fected an  elegant  and  distinguisKed  air ;  and  in  the 
uncertain  light  he  appeared  young.  He  was  cor- 
rectly attired  in  a  prince-albert,  with  light  trousers, 
and  a  long  overcoat,  with  tails,  that  fitted  grace- 
fully into  the  hollow  of  his  back.  His  thin,  languid, 
intellectual  face  stood  out  clearly  above  a  collar  of 


THE   HAPPIEST   MAN  345 

extraordinary  height;  and  a  silk  umbrella,  held  by 
a  hand  neatly  gloved  in  gray,  protected  his  tall  hat. 
His  feet  were  daintily  shod,  and  he  had  somehow 
managed  not  to  soil  his  trousers. 

At  the  corner  of  Madison  Street  he  met  Harry 
Chapin  and  the  two  men  nodded  to  each  other. 

Harry  looked  rather  shabby  and  had  entirely  lost 
the  debonair  bearing  of  his  bachelor  days.  He 
wore  a  spring  overcoat  that  did  not  fit  well  about 
the  collar,  and  a  cheap  derby  tilted  back  from  his 
high  forehead.  He  walked  with*  a  lifeless  shuffle, 
and  his  face  had  a  weary,  hopeless  expression.  Dare 
turned  and  looked  after  him,  impelled  by  that  mixed 
emotion  of  pity,  friendliness,  and  gratitude  which  a 
roue  often  feels  for  the  deceived  Husband. 

"Hello,  Chapin !"  he  cried,  and  Harry  stopped  and 
turned. 

"Out  mashing?"  asked  the  latter.  "I  see  you've 
got  your  glad  rags  on." 

"No,"  laughed  Dare,  "I'm  not  a  masher.  My 
mashing  days  are  over.  I  leave  that  to  young  fel- 
lows like  you.  Where  are  you  going  so  fast  ?" 

"Back  to  the  office.  I've  been  over  to  the  County 
Building  looking  up  some  titles." 

"At  least  you  have  time  to  take  a  drink  ?" 

Harry  brightened. 

"Sure.  ..God  doesn't  expect  me  for  a  hour  yet." 


346      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"God?" 

"Yes.    Old  Blodgett — the  man  who  sent  me." 

Dare  passed  his  arm  through  that  of  the  younger 
man  and  looked  about  him,  asking : 

"Where's  the  nearest  saloon  ?" 

"There's  a  pretty  decent  joint  over  there,"  re- 
plied Harry.  "Jimmy  Ferguson's  buffet." 

"That'll  do,"  said  Dare.  "You  can  get  just  as 
drunk  at  a  buffet  as  at  a  bar." 

They  crossed  the  street  and  went  down  two  steps 
into  one  of  tfie  most  respectable  saloons  in  the 
cityj  a  small,  narrow  place  with  a  couple  of  private 
rooms  for  the  convenience  of  men  who  wished  to 
talk  confidentially  over  their  wine  or  whisky. 

They  entered  one  of  these  and  sat  down  at  a 
round  table. 

"What'll  it  be?"  asked  the  artist,  as  the  colored 
waiter  entered. 

"I'll  take  a  dry  martini,  with  an  olive  in  it,"  or- 
dered Harry,  with  considerable  animation. 

Dare  took  a  pony  of  French  cognac ;  and,  as  soon 
as  the  drinks  were  consumed;  ordered  two  more. 
Harry  straightened  out  first  one  leg  and  then  the 
other,  as  he  felt  in  his  pockets. 

"It's  up  to  me,"  he  said,  rather  feebly,  for  he 
found  but  twenty  cents. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  replied  Dare.    "The  fact  is, 


There's  a  pretty 
decent  joint 


THE   HAPPIEST   MAN  347 

I'm  going  away  Saturday,  and  this  is  a  sort  of 
farewell  treat." 

"Going  away  ?  to  New  York  ?  I  wish  I  could  get 
away  somewhere  for  a  while — any  old  place.  I've 
got  tired  of  going  down  to  my  office  and  back  Home 
again.  Year  in  and  year  out  the  same  thing — and 
Sunday  the  longest  day  in  the  week.  I  believe  it 
would  do  me  good  to  break  loose  and  go  on  a  spree 
— regular  old-fashioned  round-up.  Any  old  thing 
to  break  up  the  monotony  of  life." 

Harry  had  finished  his  second  cocktail,  and  was 
trying  to  spear  the  olive  with  a  tooth-pick.  His 
stomach  was  empty,  he  was  unaccustomed  to  drink, 
and  his  manhood  was  at  a  low  ebb.  The  two  cock- 
tails, which  in  his  palmy  days  would  not  Have  af- 
fected him,  now  brought  him  to  that  stage  of  in- 
cipient intoxication  where  a  man  feels  sorry  for 
himself  and  desirous  of  sympathy. 

"Why  don't  you  take  a  night  off  once  in  a  while  ?" 
asked  Dare,  sipping  his  cognac. 

"I'm  on  to  myself.  If  I  ever  got  started  once, 
it  would  be  all  off.  I'd  lose  my  job,  and  then  where 
would  I  be  ?  Where  would  Nell  be  ?" 

"Yes,  of  course,"  replied  the  artist,  "there's  your 
wife  to  think  of.  A  married  man  has  obligations." 

"Yes,  that's  it,— a  married  man  has  obligations. 
Marriage,  is  for  better  or  worse." 


348      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD, 

'  The  thought  occurred  to  Dare  that  if  Harry  were 
a  little  more  under  the  influence  of  drink,  he  might 
possibly  reveal  his  feelings  for  his  wife.  If  he  did 
not  love  Nellie,  if  he  were  tired  of  her,  the  knowl- 
edge would  take  much  of  the  moral  ugliness  out  of 
the  act  which  the  artist  was  contemplating. 

"Let's  have  a  quart  of  champagne,"  he  suggested. 
"I'm  leaving  the  country  for  good.  I'm  going  to 
Naples.  A  man  doesn't  go  to  Naples  every  day." 

"Champagne?"  repeated  Harry,  more  interested 
in  the  old,  familiar  sound  than  in  the  artist's  desti- 
nation: "I  haven't  drunk  a  glass  of  champagne 
since  I  was  married.  But  ain't  things  comin'  pret- 
ty swift?  I  don't  want  to  get  good.  What'd  my 
wife  say?" 

"I  fear  you're  taking  married  life  too  seriously," 
laughed  the  artist.  "The  model  married  man  never 
goes  home  drunk.  He  waits  till  he  sobers  up.  But 
I'll  explain  things  to  Nel — Mrs.  Chapin." 

The  negro  brought  the  champagne  with  that  ad- 
ded respect  in  his  manner  which]  this  particular 
order  always  inspires  in  the  colored  breast.  Even 
Harry,  unpromising  as  he  had  heretofore  appeared 
to  the  waiter,  now  became  a  person  of  importance. 
"Gents  do  not  buy  wine  for  nobodies,"  he  rea- 
soned, and  he  filled  Harry's  glass  with  an  ob- 


THE   HAPPIEST   MAN  349 

sequiousness  that  brought  back  to  his  mind  the  old 
days  when  he  was  a  star  guest  at  Ma'am  Galli's. 

"Here's  a  pleasant  voyage,"  said  Harry  as  they 
touched  glasses.  "Naples  is  a  pretty  nice  place, 
isn't  it  ?" 

He  finished  the  second  glass  with  the  inconse- 
quential remark : 

"That'll  help  some." 

During  the  third,  he  placed  his  twenty  cents  upon 
the  table  and  repeated : 

"That'll  help  some." 

"Put  your  money  back  in  your  pocket,"  said  Dare, 
smiling.  "This  is  my  day.  What  do  you  want?" 
The  artist  was  perfectly  sober. 

"Some  cigarettes." 

"All  right,  I'll  order  some  Condax  straw  tips, 
real  Turkish  you  know.  The  genuine  thing." 

"Not  for  me,"  said  Harry.  "America's  good 
enough  for  me.  I'll  take  a  small  package  of  Sweet 
Caporal." 

They  were  brought,  and  he  lighted  one,  remark- 
ing again : 

"That'll  help  some." 

"You  were  saying,"  observed  Dare,  fearful  lest 
his  companion  should  lose  his  senses  entirely,  "that 
marriage  was  for  better  or  for  worse." 


350      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"Yes,  that's  so — fer  better  'r  fer  worse — princi- 
pally worse." 

"But  that's  treason,  old  man,  with  such  a  beauti- 
ful and  accomplished  wife  as  you  have.  You  ought 
to  be  the  happiest  man  on  earth." 

"Happies'  man  on  earth,"  repeated  Harry.  "Say, 
ol'  man,  she's  a  peach.  Here's  to  the  peach !" 

"Then  why  do  you  say  that  'marriage  is  princi- 
pally worse'?"  persisted  Dare.  "Isn't  she  as  good 
as  she  is  beautiful  ?" 

Harry  began  to  ramble  on  in  a  maudlin  whine : 

"Shay,  Mr.  Dare,  don't  you  ever  get  married. 
Take  my  word  frit,  marriage'z  a  failure.  Look  a' 
me.  I'm  an  ass — a  hem-stitched  ass.  W'y  b'fore 
I  wuz  married,  I  had  a  good  time — money 'n  my 
pocket,  an'  friends,  an'  a  good  time — I  had  a  good 
time.  Now  wha's  life  for  me  ?  Just  a  damn  grind. 
Every  day  the  same,  an'  Sunday  the  longes'  day  of 
all." 

Resting  with  his  elbows  on  the  table  and  his 
head  in  his  hands,  he  was  the  picture  of  drunken 
self-pity. 

"D'you  know  me  b'fore  I  was  married?"  he 
asked.  "No,  of  course  not.  Well,  if  you  had, 
you'd  know  what  marriage  has  done  f'r  me.  Kind 
of  a  'b'fore  taking  and  after  taking,'  y'  know,  like 
you  see  in  the  patent  pill  advertisements.  Only'n 


THE   HAPPIEST    MAN  351 

my  case  you  ought  to — put  the  'after  taking' 
first — see? — ought  to  put  it  first,  an'  call  it  'b'fore 
taking' — see  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Dare  smiling,  "I  see." 

"I'm  a  sort  of  horrible  example  of  matrimony," 
continued  Harry.  "I  married  f'r  love — umph, 
what's  love?  It's  the  s'motion — emotion,  I  mean, 
of  a  damn  fool.  'S  a  dream  that  you  wake  up  from 
when  it's  too  late.  Misser  D-Dare,  a  man  ain't 
responsible  when  he's  in  love ;  he  ough'n't  to  be  held 
responsible  f'r  his  ac's.  But  he  is ;  an'  he  goes  and 
spoils  his  whole  life  at  a  time  when  he  ain't  respon- 
sible— when  he's  bug  house." 

"You  ought  to  enlist  in  the  army,"  remarked 
Dare.  "Unhappy  married  men  make  tKe  bravest 
soldiers." 

The  situation  was  becoming  exquisite;  it  quite 
restored  him  to  his  happiest  self. 

"You  see,"  continued  Harry,  "it's  like  this.  You 
marry  f'r  love,  an'  then  you've  got  to  keep  right 
on  living  with  a  woman  after  you  get  wise  again. 
'Fore  I  was  married,  I  had  friends,  'n'  good  clothes, 
and  I  ate  porter-house  steaks  and  camembert 
cheese.  WHat  do  I  get  out  of  matrimony?  You 
see  me — look  a'  me  an'  look  a*  you — Misser  Dare, 
I  like  you.  You're  a  frien'  o'  mine.  Promise  me 
you'll  never,  get  married." 


352      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

Harry  insisted  on  shaking  hands  with  his  friend 
over  the  promise. 

"Does  she  love  you  ?"  asked  the  artist  slyly. 

"Love  me?  Yes  she  does — not.  All  she  thinks 
of  is  running  around  to  hen-clubs  and  talking 
French.  She  never  thinks  of  me.  All  I  get  out 
o'  marriage  is  a  place  to  sleep  in  that's  no  home 
at  all,  an'  she  spends  all  my  money  f'r  things  that 
I  don't  want  and,  anyhow,  don't  get." 

"Well,  perhaps  you're  to  be  congratulated," 
laughed  Dare.  "Married  men  say  there's  no  greater 
nuisance  than  a  wife  who  is  too  deeply  in  love  with 
her  husband.  She's  a  very  beautiful  woman.  Per- 
haps somebody'll  elope  with  her." 

"Elope  with  her?"  whined  Harry.  "There's  no 
such  good  luck  f'r  me.  B'sides,  Nell  wouldn't  do 
it.  She's  too  damn  r'ligious.  Why,  that  woman 
won't  even  play  cards  with  me,  b'cause  she  thinks 
it's  wrong." 

"Oh,  you  never  can  tell  what  a  woman  is  going 
to  do  next,"  insisted  Dare.  "She's  certainly  beau- 
tiful enough  to  tempt  anybody." 

"Tha's  what  I  thought  b'fore  I  married  her,"  re- 
plied Harry,  slowly  shaking  his  head.  "Tha's  just 
what  I  thought."  Then  he  looked  at  the  door  to 
see  if  it  were  closed  and  Hitched  his  chair  up  closer 
to  the  artist. 


THE   HAPPIEST   MAN  353 

Poor  Harry !  drunk  as  he  was,  a  certain  amount 
of  self-respect  and  delicacy  clung  to  him. 

"Misser  Dare,"  he  whispered,  "yo  're  a  frien'  o' 
mine.  One  o'  the  bes'  frien's  I  ever  had.  I  know 
that.  S-shake.  'F  you  could  see  that  woman 
slouchin'  'round  the  house  'z  I  see  her,  you'd  never 
think  she  was  a  good-looker  f'r  a  minute.  You 
ought  t'  see  her  with  her  hair  down  once,  f 'rinstance. 
Changes  the  whole  expression  of  her  face,  somehow. 
Makes  me  think  of  a  rat  lookin'  out  of  a  hole.  An' 
she's  got  the  ugliest  feet — they're  as  red  as  boiled 
lobsters,  an'  all  swelled  up  at  the  joints.  Makes 
her  feet  kind  o'  kite-shaped — jus'  like  boys'  kites. 
I — a  man  oughtn'  talk  this  way  'bout  his  wife,  but 
you're  a  frien'  o'  mine — bes'  frien'  I  ever  had, 
Misser  Dare,  'n'  I  know  you'd  do  anything  on  earth 
to  help  me.  Yes,  her  feet  are  like  a  pair  of  kites — 
you  could  tie  strings  to  'em  and  fly  'em." 

Poor  Harry !  The  artist  gulped  down  a  glass  of 
champagne  at  a  swallow,  and  a  look  of  disgust 
spread  over  his  thin,  esthetic  face.  He  remem- 
bered his  last  interview  with  the  Bodenhausen  Ma- 
donna. 

"Whew,"  he  said,  looking  at  his  watch.  "We've 
been  Here  an  hour  now.  We  must  be  going." 

"D'you  think  God  would  notice  I've  been  drink- 


354      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

ing?"  asked  Harry,  struggling  into  his  overcoat, 
of  which  the  lining  in  one  sleeve  was  loose. 

"We'll  walk  up  and  down  in  the  cold  air  for  a 
few  minutes,"  said  Dare,  "and  then  you'll  be  all 
right." 

As  they  parted  at  the  corner,  Harry  was  sober 
enough  to  feel  ashamed. 

"Don't  mention  to  anybody  what  I  told  you,"  he 
pleaded.  "I  put  it  on  a  little  too  thick,  I  guess. 
Nell's  all  right.  At  any  rate,  I  married  her  with 
my  eyes  open,  and  I've  got  to  take  my  medicine." 

"Not  a  word,"  said  the  artist,  sympathetically. 
"I'm  going  away  to  Ven — Naples  this  week,  and 
nobody  knows  anything  about  you  over  there.  But 
cheer  up,  old  man.  Somebody'll  run  off  with  her 
yet ;  you  see  if  they  don't — feet  and  all." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

-     THE  TRUMPET  NARCISSUS 

What  puppets  of  fortune  we  are !  The  slightest, 
most  adventitious  circumstances, — a  word  dropped 
here  or  there,  a  chance  meeting  on  the  street,  the 
failure  to  catch  a  car,  may  work  the  most  porten- 
tous change  in  our  destinies  and  alter  the  whole 
current  of  our  lives.  And  through  it  all,  even  those 
who  deny  the  existence  of  a  God,  must  see  an  in- 
exorable reckoning  in  the  long  run,  a  paying  off 
of  old  debts,  and  a  final  compensation  of  some  sort 
for  those  who  are  faithful  to  their  best  selves.  If 
there  is  no  God,  and  the  universe  is  run  by  that 
mighty  and  brainless  but  exact  automaton,  Law, 
then  final  justice  must  be  one  of  the  principles  of 
the  eternal  Order. 

There  is  no  man  so  faithless  but  he  has  a  super- 
stitious fear  that  the  consequences  of  his  evil  acts 
will  overtake  him ;  none  so  cynical  that  he  does  not 
feel  surer  of  his  future  if  his  life  be  right. 

Roth's  good  fortune  and  reward  came  to  him 
355 


356      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

through  the  fact  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  buying 
his  bulbs,  seeds  and  potted  plants  at  Wittbold's,  on 
Buckingham  Place.  He  might  easily  have  gone  to 
some  other  florist,  but  he  had  been  enticed  therein 
one  day  by  a  display  of  begonias,  and  found  the 
beautiful  young  daughter  of  the  proprietor  so  in- 
telligent and  obliging  that  He  became  a  regular 
patron.  Moreover,  he  found  enthusiasts  there  with 
whom  he  could  talk  concerning  his  beloved  plants, 
people  who  responded  to  his  own  enthusiasm  and 
respected  it. 

WHen,  therefore,  a  wealthy  St.  Louis  brewer 
wrote  to  old  man  Wittbold,  and  asked  to  be  recom- 
mended to  a  competent  German  gardener,  a  man 
to  superintend  a  greenhouse  and  a  park  and  a  lawn, 
the  young  lady  told  her  father  th'at  she  believed 
Roth  was  just  the  man  for  the  place.  The  brewer 
came  to  the  city,  met  Roth,  was  cKarmed  witK 
him,  and  hired  him  at  a  salary  of  two  thousand 
dollars  a  year,  with  cottage  rent  free,  and  a  patch 
of  ground  for  his  own  vegetable  garden. 

"To  live  among  flowers,  mein  Schatz,"  he  whis- 
pered to  his  wife,  with  tears  in  his  eyes  and  his 
arm  around  her  waist,  "in  a  cottage — oh,  you  shall 
see  the  vines  tfiat  shall  over  it  grow !  And  the  dear 
children  playing  under  the  trees !  Ah,  life  shall  be 
one  song,  eh,  my  love?" 


THE   TRUMPET   NARCISSUS        357 

"Life  has  always  been  a  song  with  you,"  she  re- 
plied, her  low,  sweet  voice  trembling  with  joy. 

"True,"  he  cried,  "love  is  the  music  of  life,  and 
where  that  is,  the  heart  sings,  in  cottage,  in  palace, 
or  in  tenement." 

While  they  were  packing  up  Harry  scarcely 
realized  that  th'ey  were  actually  going,  nor  was 
he  seized  with  a  full  sense  of  tKe  utter  desolation 
which  their  departure  meant  for  him.  He  was 
uncle  Harry  to  the  Roth  children,  for  whom  he  ex- 
perienced a  feeling  almost  paternal,  and  whose  little 
voices  filled  tKe  empty  chambers  in  his  own  heart 
with  a  welcome  music.  TKe  sound  of  hammering 
and  of  the  dragging  of  heavy  boxes  about  on  the 
floor  above  made  him  sad,  it  is  true;  but  the  chil- 
dren were  there  yet,  and  he  saw  the  Roths  every 
morning  and  evening. 

When  he  came  up  the  stairs,  if  the  door  above 
were  open,  Ke  could  hear  the  gleeful  shouts  of  Fritz 
and  Bismarck  Goethe.  They  would  have  made  a 
picnic  of  th'e  preparations  for  moving  had  the 
family  been  going  to  meaner  fortunes  instead  of 
brighter. 

At  last  the  van  was  sent  away,  and  Harry  ac- 
companied th'e  Roth  family  to  tKe  station  on  Friday 
morning,  the  day  before  the  Saturday  set  by  th'e 
artist  for  his  elopement  with  Nellie. 


358      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

Grandpa  Roth  took  charge  of  Bismarck  Goethe, 
whom  he  carried  to  the  Evanston  Avenue  car  on 
account  of  the  mud.  Fritz,  in  knickerbockers,  a 
German  cap,  and  a  neat  little  overcoat  made  by  his 
mother  from  an  old  garment  of  his  'father's,  ran 
on  ahead,  returning  every  moment  to  shout  that  he 
heard  a  car  coming.  His  face  was  flushed  with  ex- 
citement, and  his  flaxen  curls  danced  in  the  wind. 
Mrs.  Roth  carried  a  bundle  and  a  cloth  telescope 
grip  that  nearly  pulled  her  arm  to  the  sidewalk, 
and  Harry  took  charge  of  the  hamper.  Roth  him- 
self bore  a  flower-pot  in  each  hand,  containing 
plants  for  which  he  had  a  peculiar  affection,  a  Ro- 
man hyacinth  and  a  trumpet  narcissus. 

Evalina,  wearing  a  long  cravenette  coat  and  a 
new  spring  hat  trimmed  with  violets  that  somewhat 
forced  the  season,  tripped  along  with  her  hands 
in  her  pockets,  the  only  thoroughly  American  figure 
in  the  group.  There  was  something  reminiscent 
of  continental  peasant  life  in  all  this  carrying  of 
bundles. 

Grandpa  Roth  was  greatly  distressed  lest  they 
lose  the  train,  during  the  entire  journey  to  the 
depot.  When  they  finally  arrived,  he  ran  about 
the  gloomy,  clanging  station  with  Bismarck 
Goethe's  head  nestled  against  his  shaggy  be- 
whiskered  face,  and  inquired  of  several  employees 


THE   TRUMPET   NARCISSUS        359 

which  was  the  St.  Louis  train.  After  a  burly  po- 
liceman had  confirmed  the  information  given  by 
each  of  these,  he  adjusted  his  big  iron-rimmed 
spectacles  and  read  the  announcements  on  the 
board.  Then  he  returned  to  the  party,  who  were 
standing  among  their  bundles  talking,  and  pointed 
out  to  them  the  right  track. 

"Subbose  ve  got  on  the  wrong  train,"  he  said; 
"ve  might  come  by  Milvaukee,  or  Oshkosh,  or — or 
Biffalo." 

And  when  the  company's  crier  called  out  the 
names  of  a  long  list  of  stations  ending  with  St. 
Louis,  he  shouted  triumphantly : 

"Didn't  I  told  you  so?"  and  started  briskly  for 
the  train,  beckoning  and  shouting:  "Come  on, 
come  on,  or  ve  got  left !" 

"I'm  all  broke  up  at  losing  you  folks,"  Harry 
was  saying  to  Roth.  "You're  the  only  friends  I've 
got.  I  don't  know  wliat  I'm  ever  going  to  do  with- 
out you — I  swear  to  God  I  don't.  And  the  kids — 
it  seems  as  if  they  were  my  own.  It  seems  as 
though  you  were  takin'  my  own  kids  away  from 
me.  I  ain't  got  any  of  my  own,  you  know." 

"You  poor  man!"  said  Mrs.  Roth,  who  with  a 
woman's  intuition  knew  th'at  Harry's  wife  was  to 
blame  for  his  unhappiness.  "We'll  write  to  you 
often,  and  the  children  shall  put  something  into 


360      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

every  letter.  Bismarck  shall  write  a  letter  every 
week  to  uncle  Harry,  won't  you,  Bismarck?  He 
writes  to  his  auntie  Frieda  in  Germany,"  she  ex- 
plained. "He  just  makes  marks  all  over  a  sheet  of 
paper,  and  she's  so  glad  to  get  them!  She  says 
she  thinks  more  of  them  than  she  does  of  my  let- 
ters." 

"You'll  write  to  uncle  Harry,  won't  you?"  said 
Chap  in,  pulling  the  boy  out  of  his  grandfather's 
arms.  "Uncle  Harry  loves  you." 

"Mama  and  papa  and  Santa  Claus  and  Humpty 
Dumpty  loves  me,"  replied  the  little  fellow,  "and 
unc'  Harry  loves  me,  too." 

"You  must  have  children  of  your  own,"  said 
Roth;  "you're  so  fond  of  'em;  but  you  don't  know 
what  it  is  to  love  one  till  you  have  some  of  your 
own.  Ah,  when  your  own  baby's  voice  calls  you 
'papa,'  then  you'll  Hear  music — soul  music!  Then 
your  work  will  be  easy  all  the  day,  and  your  home 
the  dearest  place  on  earth." 

The  time  for  the  train's  departure  arrived  un- 
expectedly, as  is  always  the  case  when  there  are 
heartfelt  good  bys  to  be  said.  Harry  helped  the 
family  and  the  bundles  on  board,  kissed  the  chil- 
dren, shook  hands  Hurriedly  with  the  elders,  and 
started  for  the  door. 


THE   TRUMPET    NARCISSUS        361 

Roth  rushed  after  him  at  the  last  moment  and 
kissed  him  squarely  on  the  lips. 

"Here,  take  this,"  he  said,  offering  the  hyacinth. 
"No,  this,  for  I  love  it  the  most.  And  remember 
what  I  say  about  the  children.  They  of  marriage 
are  the  flowers.  Where  they  bloom,  there  is  the 
perfume  of  holy  love." 

A  moment  later  Harry  was  standing  on  tKe  plat- 
form, holding  awkwardly  in  his  hand  a  flower-pot 
containing  a  bush  of  long,  slender  leaves,  above 
which"  nodded  three  or  four  trumpet-shaped  blos- 
soms of  the  large  narcissus. 

The  RotH  family  were  at  the  window  of  the  mov- 
ing train,  waving  their  hands  at  him ;  but  the  pict- 
ure that  lingered  longest  in  his  mind  was  the 
shaggy  countenance  of  grandpa  Roth,  pressed 
against  the  pane,  between  the  fresh,  eager  faces 
of  Fritz  and  Bismarck  Goethe. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

HIS  ONE  CHANCE 

Harry  came  home  in  the  evening  through  a  driz- 
zling rain,  his  narcissus  under  his  arm,  and  over 
his  head  an  umbrella  whose  one  naked  rib  projected 
like  an  accusing  finger. 

He  was  somewhat  comforted  by  finding  Nellie 
strangely  sweet  to  him.  She  kissed  him  as  he  en- 
tered, an  unusual  attention,  and  asked  him  solicit- 
ously if  he  had  wet  his  feet. 

"What  a  beautiful  flower!"  she  exclaimed,  tak- 
ing the  plant  from  his  hands  and  setting  it  on  a 
chair.  "We  must  see  that  this  one  does  not  die. 
Where  did  you  get  it,  dear?" 

"Roth  gave  it  to  me,"  he  replied,  "just  as  they 
were  going  away." 

"Such  an  interesting  family !"  she  sighed ;  "and 
did  the  dear  little  boys  cry  when  you  bade  them 
good  by?" 

There  was  a  hectic  flusK  in  her  cheek,  which 
added  to  her  beauty;  and  a  nervous  alertness  in 
362 


HIS   ONE   CHANCE  363 

her  movements,  which  made  Harry  dimly  wonder 
if  she  had  taken  pity  on  his  sorrow  and  was  going 
to  turn  over  a  new  leaf.  The  excellence  of  the 
supper  which  she  had  prepared  for  him  almost 
confirmed  this  belief.  Her  trunk,  for  the  man's 
idea  of  a  satchel  proved  inadequate  to  the  woman, 
was  packed  and  waiting;  in  readiness  at  that  mo- 
ment. 

Harry's  hopes  were  short-lived,  for  Nellie  left 
the  table  before  the  meal  was  finished,  and,  taking 
up  a  book,  pretended  to'read. 

"Don't  mind  me,"  she  explained;  "I'm  getting 
up  a  paper  for  the  club,  and  I  have  to  put  in  every 
minute." 

She  had  not  yet  Heard  from  the  artist,  and  she 
was  in  a  nervous  state  almost  bordering  on  Hys- 
teria. Whenever  she  heard  feet  on  the  walk  be- 
low her  heart  pounded.  Perhaps  that  was  the 
messenger,  and  how  should  she  take  in  the  letter 
without  exciting  her  husband's  suspicions?  Once, 
the  street  door  opened  and  shut  with  a  slam,  and 
she  arose,  glancing  warily  at  Harry  and  support- 
ing herself  by  resting  both  hands  upon  the  table, 
faint  almost  to  falling.  It  was  a  false  alarm,  and 
she  sat  down  again. 

Harry  stifled  an  oath  when  she  left  the  supper 
table,  and-  finished  his  meal  in  gloomy  silence. 


364      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD. 

Then  he  went  upstairs  and  looked  into  the  Roths' 
deserted  flat.  A  dim  light  from  the  street  lamp 
shone  in  through  the  windows  upon  the  bare  walls 
and  flickered  faintly  about  the  ceiling.  He 
scratched  a  match  on  the  sole  of  his  shoe  and  lit 
the  gas.  He  wandered  through  the  parlors,  out 
into  the  kitchen,  and  into  the  bedrooms. 

There  were  square  patches  of  a  lighter  shade  on 
the  walls  where  the  pictures  had  been,  and  the 
parlor  floors  were  covered  with  old  newspapers, 
mostly  copies  of  the  Staats  Zeitung,  that  had 
been  laid  beneath  the  carpets.  Roth's  wire  flower- 
rack,  which  was  not  worth  moving,  still  stood  by 
the  window,  with  one  little  red  pot  on  it,  containing 
a  dead  and  withered  flower.  In  one  of  the  bed- 
rooms Harry  found  an  old  hat  of  Evalina's,  from 
which  she  had  torn  the  trimming  and  then  thrown 
the  thing  away.  Everything  was  gone  from  the 
mother's  sleeping  room  except  an  antiquated  wooden 
cradle,  which  even  Bismarck  Goethe  had  outgrown, 
and  which  had  been  kept  under  the  bed  in  readiness 
for  matrimonial  contingencies.  Roth  himself  made 
it  in  the  days  when  they  were  living  happily  on 
twelve  dollars  a  week,  and  wished  to  take  it  along 
for  sentimental  reasons ;  but  he  had  been  overpow- 
ered by  Evalina's  unexpected  outcry: 

"What,  that  old  Noah's  ark?    That  old  chop- 


HIS   ONE   CHANCE  365 

ping  bowl  ?  We're  taking  so  much  trash  along  al- 
ready that  people  will  think  we're  a  pack  of  beg- 
gars." 

So  the  baby's  cradle  was  left  behind.  On  the 
kitchen  table  was  a  pile  of  broken  and  discarded 
dishes,  and  the  remnants  of  a  last  lunch — some 
pieces  of  bread,  some  egg  shells,  and  a  tin  box  with 
one  sardine  in  it. 

On  the  kitchen  walls  and  in  the  bedrooms  were 
numerous  pictures  from  the  Sunday  editions  of  the 
newspapers.  These  were  tacked  up,  and  in  two 
or  three  instances  one  corner  lopped  down,  where 
a  tack  had  been  pulled  out  for  a  special  emergency 
of  moving. 

Harry  felt  overpowered  by  sadness.  He  was  as 
deeply  moved  as  though"  he  were  visiting  the  grave 
of  a  dear  friend,  now  no  more.  Indeed,  he  knew 
the  Roth  family  was  dead  to  him.  St.  Louis,  with 
his  meager  pocketbook  and  his  implacable  round 
of  work,  was  as  far  off  as  another  world  could 
have  been. 

Though  he  knew  it  not,  he  was  visiting  a  vault 
— the  saddest  possible  kind  of  vault — a  deserted 
house.  The  place,  like  the  lineaments  of  a  dead 
face,  was  familiar  yet  strange.  Everything  that 
reminded  him  of  his  dear  friends  only  served  to 
make  more  poignant  the  fact  that  they  were  gone. 


366      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAQ 

As  in  the  case  of  death,  so  in  that  of  an  empty 
House,  familiarity  and  desertion  are  the  chief  ele- 
ments of  grief,  each  strengthening  the  other.  The 
place  was  haunted.  The  very  silence  whispered 
of  happy,  childish  voices ;  the  phantoms  of  familiar 
forms  took  vague  shape  in  the  emptiness. 

As  Harry  left  the  flat  he  stepped  on  a  soft  ob- 
ject in  the  hall,  and,  stooping,  picked  it  up.  It 
was  Bismarck  Goethe's  toy  dog,  a  comical,  shape- 
less object,  whose  legs  resembled  the  tied  corners 
of  a  wine  skin.  It  was  very  dirty,  and  one  of  the 
glass  beads  that  did  for  eyes  was  gone.  But  Harry 
put  it  in  his  pocket,  murmuring: 

"The  little  feller's  dog!  I  wonder  if  he'll  miss 
it  when  he  goes  to  sleep?"  For  Bismarck  Goethe 
often  refused  to  close  his  eyes  until  he  had  made 
a  complete  inventory  of  his  playthings,  and  they 
were  all  piled  upon  the  bed  beside  him. 

During  Harry's  brief  absence  from  the  room, 
Nellie  ran  every  moment  to  the  window,  parted  the 
lace  curtains,  and  peered  down  into  the  street.  She 
did  not  even  know  yet  which1  train  they  were  to 
take.  Perhaps  he  would  send  word  in  the  morn- 
ing, but  it  seemed  strange  that  he  should  wait  al- 
most till  the  last  moment. 

Now  that  she  had  really  made  up  her  mind  to  go, 
she  felt  no  longer  the  least  compunction.  She 


HIS   ONE   CHANCE  367 

threw  all  prudence,  all  religious  scruples,  modesty, 
to  the  winds;  and  was  possessed  of  a  delirium  to 
be  away  with  Dare — on  the  train  with  him,  on  the 
sea  with  him,  in  foreign  lands  alone  with  him.  If 
she  did  not  hear  from  him  soon,  it  seemed  as  though 
she  must  cry  out.  What  sort  of  stupid  brute 
was  her  husband  that  he  did  not  notice  her  agita- 
tion? Even  his  blindness  in  this  matter  added  to 
her  disgust  for  Harry.  He  was  so  stupid!  It 
seemed  to  her  as  though  the  very  air  were  rife  with 
Dare,  as  though  his  name  were  written  on  tfie  walls. 

When  she  heard  Harry's  footsteps  on  the  stairs, 
she  dropped  again  into  her  chair  and  picked  up  the 
book.  He  shuffled  past  without  so  much  as  look- 
ing at  her,  lit  the  gas  in  the  front  room,  and  com- 
menced to  read  a  paper-covered  novel  that  h'e  had 
bought  for  ten  cents  a  few  days  before.  It  was  a 
love  story  of  the  Bertha  Clay  order,  and  it  did  not 
appeal  to  him.  He  slid  down  in  the  chair,  his 
chin  dropped  upon  his  breast,  and  he  began  to 
snore. 

Nellie  glanced  at  him.  He  had  grown  older  fast 
during  the  last  year.  He  was  quite  bald  now  on 
the  top  of  his  head,  and  the  straight,  black  hairs 
which  fell  to  his  ears  on  either  side  were  powdered 
with  encroaching  gray.  There  was  no  gaiety  in 
his  thin  Countenance,  and  with  every  snore  there 


368      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

was  a  slight  uplift  to  his  upper  lip  and  a  wrinkling 
of  his  nose  that  was  pitifully  droll.  Baldness  had 
made  his  forehead  unnaturally  high  and  narrow, 
and  his  temples  seemed  cut  down  square,  as  though 
sawed.  He  was  a  picture  of  sleeping  weakness  and 
petulance,  but  Nellie  found  no  pity  in  her  heart  for 
him.  Pity  is  akin  to  love,  and  she  loved  Dare. 

While  Harry  snored,  the  messenger  came,  a  tiny 
boy  who  stamped  and  stumbled  up  the  steps  with 
noise  enough  for  a  drunken  giant.  Nellie  opened 
the  door  before  he  had  a  chance  to  knock,  and 
snatched  the  letter  from  him  with  joyful  eagerness. 
She  knew  what  it  contained :  simply  some  figures, 
probably,  that  no  one  would  understand  but  her- 
self— the  hour  at  which  the  train  departed. 

"This  here  message  was  to  uv  been  brought  at 
t'ree  o'clock,"  explained  the  boy,  as  she  wrote  her 
name  in  his  book,  "but  there  wan't  no  kids  in  de 
office.  I'd  have  been  here  an  hour  earlier,  but  I 
got  onto  de  Evanston  car  and  went  about  two  miles 
out  o'  my  way.  I  done  meself  out  o'  ten  cents  car 
fare." 

He  waited  for  a  tip,  or  at  least  to  be  reimbursed, 
but  saw  that  it  was  hopeless  as  soon  as  she  began 
to  read  her  letter. 

"Gee !  that  must  have  been  bad  news  what  I  car- 
ried out  io  de  Nort'  Side,"  he  explained  to  a  com- 


HIS   ONE   CHANCE  369 

rade  later.  "De  lady  clutched  herself  like  dis,  see, 
like  dis,  Chimmy,  and  staggered  up  against  de  door, 
an'  said,  'My  God!'  just  like  a  lady  in  a  t'eater." 

This  is  what  Nellie  read: 

"My  Darling — This  is  to  bid  you  good  by,  and 
to  ask  your  forgiveness  for  any  pain  that  I  may 
have  brought  into  your  life.  When  in  your  dear 
presence  the  other  day,  I  gave  way  to  my  love  for 
you,  and  yielded  to  the  overwhelming  passion  of 
the  moment.  If  I  were  to  see  you  now,  I  should 
carry  you  off  with  me  to  the  end  of  the  world. 
But  when  I  am  away  from  you,  I  realize  that  it 
would  be  selfish  and  ignoble  of  me  to  ruin  your 
reputation  for  my  own  selfish  pleasure.  You  are 
now  a  respectable  married  woman,  and  you  were 
happy  before  you  knew  me.  If  I  were  to  take  you 
away,  your  high  principles  and  religious  training 
would  triumph  in  the  end,  and  you  would  be  un- 
happy. You  would  weary  of  the  old  man,  and 
then  where  would  you  be?  As  it  is,  you  will  soon 
forget  him,  and  then  you  will  realize  that  I  do  this 
for  love  of  you.  Try  to  realize  it  a  little  now,  will 
you  not,  my  darling?  If  you  knew  how  much  it 
makes  me  suffer  to  write  this,  and  to  do  this,  you 
would  know  Jiow  much  I  love  you.  I  shall  be  a 
lonely  man  all  the  rest  of  my  life,  Nellie.  My 
darling,  good  by^  good  by.  Having  taken  this  re- 


370      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

solve,  I  can  no  longer  endure  to  remain  so  near 
you,  and  I  take  the  train  for  New  York  this  after- 
noon." 

No  name  was  signed,  but  Nellie  needed  no  signa- 
ture to  assure  her  who  was  the  author  of  that 
minute,  elegant  hand,  with  the  long  "1's"  and  let- 
ters below  the  line. 

She  came  into  the  room  like  one  stunned,  holding 
the  missive  in  her  Hand,  forgetful  of  Harry.  There 
was  a  roaring  in  her  ears,  and  her  staring  eyes  saw 
Dare's  face  looking  pale  out  from  the  window  of  a 
rushing  train — rushing  away  from  her  forever. 

Harry  woke  with  a  start  and  a  comical,  sensa- 
tional finale  to  a  long  snore.  He  glanced  at  his 
wife  over  the  top  of  his  glasses,  and  his  eye  was 
attracted  by  the  white  thing  in  her  hand. 

"Is  it  a  bill,  Nell?"  he  asked  petulantly. 

The  Chapins'  mail  consisted  ordinarily  of  numer- 
ous letters  from  Ireland  to  the  servant  girl,  of  bills, 
and  an  occasional  tirade  from  the  old  fanatic  out 
in  Dixon. 

Harry  was  not  greatly  interested  in  it. 

"Yes,  it's  a  bill,"  she  replied,  furtively  tearing 
it  into  bits  as  she  went  toward  her  bedroom.  "The 
— the  milk  bill."  And  then  she  added,  with  a  cheap 
woman's  supreme  instinct  for  concealment,  even 
when  wounded  to  death : 


HIS   ONE   CHANCE  371 

"People  who — who  send  bills  never  get  your 
name  wrong." 

She  had  once  heard  Dare  say  that. 

So  passed  Harry's  one  chance ;  and  the  years  are 
weary,  the  years  are  long.  He  tossed  the  book 
upon  a  small  table  and  yawned  as  he  glanced  aim- 
lessly about  the  familiar  room.  He  felt  sleepy  no 
longer,  and  he  could  not  read.  Solitaire  was  re- 
pugnant to  his  unselfish  nature,  and  Nell  thought 
she  preferred  Maeterlinck  to  cards.  As  he  leaned 
forward  in  the  little  wooden  rocker,  with  a  sham 
tapestry  on  the  back  representing  a  drinking  scene 
at  a  Swiss  inn,  it  squeaked  dismally.  All  the  furni- 
ture, shrunk  by  the  steam  heat,  had  become  queru- 
lous and  rickety.  Long  strands  of  pliable  willow, 
loosened  from  the  chairs,  Hung  about  their  legs  like 
fallen  socks  or  dying  serpents.  The  dark  green 
paper,  though  Harry  did  not  know  it,  had  a  de- 
pressing effect.  It  was  darker  than  two  years  ago, 
and  the  peacock-blue  border  was  almost  black. 
There  were  none  of  those  cheerful  effects  about  the 
room  with  which  a  true  woman,  however  inartistic, 
decorates  the  home  that  she  loves. 

The  wind  was  high  and  Harry  could  hear  it 
breathing  through  the  bare  limbs  of  the  tree  with- 
out the  window,  and  wailing  as  it  fled  down  the 
court  between  his  house  and  the  one  adjoining. 


372      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

The  cold  waves  of  the  Lake,  beating  against  the 
breakwater,  made  a  low,  steady  roar,  as  of  a  rail- 
road train,  rushing  by  in  the  distance  and  the  night. 
And  at  regular  intervals  an  awful  sound  came  to 
his  ears  through  the  disconsolate  darkness — the 
most  desolate  and  mournful  sound  in  the  world.  It 
was  the  homesick  yawn  of  an  old  lion  in  the  park. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

A  CLEAN  RECORD 

Edward  Crissey  was  elected  to  Congress  in  the 
fall,  after  a  stormy  campaign,  during  which  he 
stumped  his  district  with  surprising  eloquence, 
power  and  indefatigability.  Although  all  the  forces 
of.  unlimited  money  and  unprincipled  intrigue 
were  arrayed  against  him,  he  carried  the  day  by 
sheer  personal  magnetism,  force  of  character,  and 
honesty  too  evident  to  be  doubted.  When  he  ap- 
peared upon  a  platform,  self-contained,  though  his 
handsome  face  was  flushed,  when  he  ran  his  fingers 
through  his  white  hair  and  extended  his  Hand, 
everybody  within  reach  of  his  voice,  friend  and 
enemy,  was  eager  to  hear  what  he  had  to  say.  And 
when  that  clear,  earnest  voice,  audible  to  the  far- 
thest limits  of  the  largest  throng,  thrilled  the  ex- 
pectant air,  all  doubts  as  to  his  motives,  all  poison- 
ous rumors,  were  swept  away  as  noxious  vapors 
disappear  before  the  sane  breath  of  morning. 

He  was  elected,  by  a  small  majority,  it  is  true, 
373 


374      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

but  he  was  elected;  and  great  was  the  rejoicing 
among  the  decent  element.  For  Crissey  represent- 
ed that  large  but  usually  inert  body  of  voters  who 
too  often  keep  out  of  politics  as  something  repug- 
nant to  men  of  finer  feelings.  College  professors 
made  speeches  for  him;  the  best  class  of  business 
men  canvassed  in  his  behalf;  retired  property  hold- 
ers, wKo  h'ad  drifted  away  from  the  turmoil  of  the 
fighting  world,  awakened  to  an  interest  in  his  cam- 
paign for  decency's  sake. 

During  all  this  time  Dolly  saw  less  of  her  hus- 
band than  ever.  In  the  whirl  and  stress  of  his 
great  political  battle  he  seemed  almost  to  have  for- 
gotten the  existence  of  his  family.  He  was  away 
.whole  days  at  a  time,  and,  when  in  the  city,  he  flit- 
ted in  and  out  of  the  House  at  unexpected  hours, 
giving  a  hurried  kiss  here  and  there,  and  inquiring 
after  the  health  of  Dolly  and  the  children  in  a  cheery 
but  perfunctory  manner.  Many  meals  were  eaten 
without  him ;  and  when  at  home  he  spent  much  of 
his  time  in  his  study,  dictating  in  a  monotonous 
murmur  to  his  secretary,  or  declaiming  eloquent  pas- 
sages of  forthcoming  speeches. 

Often  he  was  closeted  with  political  emissaries 
and  aids,  men  from  every  grade  of  society,  some  of 
them  characters  whom  Dolly  felt  sure  were  dis- 
reputable. 


A   CLEAN   RECORD  375 

And  the  poor  little  woman  was  suffering  all  this 
time  in  silence ;  for  when  the  poisoned  barb  of  jeal- 
ousy enters  a  woman's  heart,  you  may  pull  away 
the  shaft,  but  tKe  head  of  the  arrow  remains  behind. 
She  knew  that  He  must  be  very  busy,  but  she  did  not 
believe  that  he  was  as  preoccupied  as  he  pretended. 
Moreover,  the  opposition  could  not  'forego  that 
cheap  weapon  of  attack  upon  his  private  character, 
and  dark  hints  were  thrown  out,  especially  in  Mur- 
chison's  organ,  that  he  was  not  the  saint  that  he 
would  Have  the  public  believe.  It  was  even  in- 
timated tKat  there  were  certain  scandalous  episodes 
in  his  private  career,  cleverly  concealed. 

These  latter  rumors,  so  easily  started  and  so 
easily  believed  by  the  prurient-minded,  he  treated 
with  silent  contempt;  but  Dolly  read  them  all  se- 
cretly, and,  while  sKe  was  too  proud  even  to  admit 
that  she  knew  of  them,  they  added  to  Her  misery. 
She  could  not  forget  the  giggling  interview  in  her 
husband's  study,  nor  the  private  meeting  by  night 
in  his  office.  Upon  such  frail  foundations  of  proof 
does  jealousy  build  its  palace  of  misery. 

The  night  after  the  election  there  was  a  grand 
and  noisy  demonstration  before  Crissey's  new 
House.  A  shouting  and  turbulent  crowd  began  to 
straggle  up  as  early  as  seven  o'clock,  and  later  the 
strains  of  a^rass  band  were  heard  in  the  distance, 


376      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

the  music  gradually  increasing  in  intensity  as  the 
players  approached.  The  sounds  suddenly  ceased 
as  a  tune  was  finished  somewhere  down  the  street, 
only  to  break  out  again  with  startling  and  tremen- 
dous fervor  beneath  the  very  windows  to  the  in- 
spiring strains  of  "Hail  Columbia."  Little  Dor- 
othy fluttered  to  the  windows  and  pressed  her  sweet 
face  against  the  pane,  shrieking,  "Moosic !  Moosic ! 
The  moosic  mans  has  come !" 

The  street  was  now  a  fairy  wilderness  of  waving 
torches,  a  pandemonium  of  multitudinous  shouts. 
And  at  last  a  certain  method  took  possession  of  this 
indiscriminate  uproar,  that  yielded  to  the  insistence 
of  a  nucleus  that  was  shouting  one  refrain  in  time 
— a  refrain  that  was  strengthened  by  the  rhythmical 
''Boom — boom,  boom,  boom,  boom!"  of  a  drum. 
Order  grew  out  of  chaos,  the  throng  was  shouting 
as  one  man : 

"Crissey!    Crissey — Congressman   Crissey !" 
"Speech,  speech — speech,  speech,  speech." 
The  new  member  came  out  upon  an  upper  bal- 
cony, attired  in  full  evening  dress,  handsomer  and 
manlier  looking  than  he  had  ever  appeared  before 
in  his  life.     He  was  smiling,  and  he  ran  his  fingers 
through  his  white  hair  in  the  old  familiar,  the  be- 
loved, way. 
He  extended  both  his  arms  in  a  gesture  com- 


A   CLEAN  RECORD  377 

manding  silence,  but  neither  th'e  throng  nor  the 
band  would  have  it  so.  While  the  crowd  shouted 
its  hoarse  admiration  and  joy,  the  musicians  played, 
witK  all  the  breath  in  their  lungs,  "Lo,  the  Con- 
quering Hero  Comes." 

At  least  half  a  dozen  times  he  opened  his  mouth 
ineffectually,  like  a  man  trying  to  shout  "down  a 
storm  at  sea.  But  when  finally  Ke  could  be  heard, 
there  was  a  great  stilling  of  the  waters. 

"My  fellow  citizens,"  he  began,  "my  dear  neigh- 
bors and  friends — "  and  what  a  speech  he  made ! 
I  All  the  triumph  of  half  a  lifetime's  struggle,  the 
joy  in  a  brave  fight  fairly  won,  the  gratitude  of  an 
honest  man  who  had  not  been  betrayed,  poured  from 
his  lips  in  spontaneous,  strenuous,  eloquent  periods. 

When  he  finished  with  feeling,  "And  now,  good 
night,  my  neighbors  and  friends,"  there  was  no 
doubt  that  he  was  the  most  popular  man  in  town, 
and  that  the  future  held  for  him  whatever  clusters 
of  promise  he  might  wish  to  reach'  after.  The 
flambeaux  fluttered  away  quietly  and  poured  down 
the  street  a  stream  of  flaring  lights.  But  before 
they  had  entirely  disappeared  from  view,  some  one 
with  leather  lungs  shouted : 

"What's  the  matter  with  Crissey?"  and  a  hun- 
dred voices  replied :  "He's  all  right." 

And  thetand,  with"  no  direction  from  the  leader, 


378      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

broke  f out  with  the  true  national  air  of  America, 
thatjuhe'to  which  Americans  fight  and  rejoice  best, 
that  tune"  which  bursts  from  them  spontaneously 
whenever  they"  wish  to  express  their  tensest  feelings 
in  music! 

"There'll  Be  a  Hot  Time  in  the  Old  Town  To- 
night !" 

Oh,  that  some  Tyrtaeus  would  write  fitting  words 
to  suit  it! 

Little  Dorothy  lifted  her  short  skirts  and  pirouet- 
ted about  the  parlor,  singing1  frantically: 

One  dark  night,  when  everybody  wuz  in  bed, 
Mrs.  O' Larry  lit  her  lamp  'n  the  shed; 
The  cow  kicked  it  over  and  winked  he's  eye  an' 
said — » 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

A  CRUCIAL  MOMENT 

The  unhappiness  in  Dolly  Crissey's  life  arose 
principally  from  loneliness  and  lack  of  comradeship 
with  the  husband  whom  she  worshiped.  His  busi- 
ness and  the  intellectual  world  in  which  he  lived 
were  as  inaccessible  to  fter  as  the  planet  Mars. 
Though  proud  of  him  to  the  point  of  worship,  she 
often  felt  that  she  would  have  been  happier  had  he 
been  a  commoner  man,  so  that  she  might  have 
shared  his  mental  struggles,  and  have  understood 
and  lightened  his  secret  disappointments.  He  was 
most  kind  to  her,  it  is  true;  she  could  not  remem- 
ber that  he  had  ever  spoken  a  cross  word  to  her. 
But  He  did  not  make  love  to  her.  Dolly  was  one 
of  those  women  who  retain  through  all  the  years 
the  heart  of  the  young  bride.  One  tender  word, 
one  lover-like  kiss,  is  worth  more  to  them  than 
social  triumphs  or  aught  that  wealth  can  give. 

Dolly  could  not  conceive  how  anybody  could  live 
without  love ;  and  as  soon  as  she  felt  herself  neglect- 
379 


380      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

ed  she  took  for  granted  that  her  husband  must  be 
interested  in  some  one  else. 

She  so  wanted  to  help  him,  too ;  to  work  side  by 
side  with  him!  As  he  steadily  mounted  the  ladder 
of  success,  her  own  occupations  grew  more  and 
more  insignificant  in  her  eyes.  To  look  after  meals, 
to  wash  and  dress  children  and  to  put  them  to  bed, 
to  care  for  the  house  and  her  husband's  comfort, 
why,  any  housekeeper  could  have  done  that. 

"If  I  were  to  die  this  very  day,"  she  frequently 
mused,  "Edward  would  never  miss  me.  He  could 
hire  some  one  to  take  my  place  for  five  dollars  a 
week.  It  would  be  better  for  him  if  I  were  to  die, 
'for  then  he,  could  marry  some  brilliant  society 
woman  whom  he  would  be  proud  of." 

Poor  Dolly!  The  mind  is  so  much  the  body's 
master  that  she  grew  old-looking  as  a  result  of  this 
secret  brooding,  and  grew  petulant.  Crissey  could 
not  help  noticing  that  all  was  not  right  with  her, 
and  advised  her  to  see  a  doctor,  to  take  a  tonic. 
But  whenever  he  spoke  of  the  matter,  her  pride 
came  to  the  rescue,  and  she  brightened  up  and  told 
him  bravely: 

"There's  nothing  the  matter;  just  a  little  tired 
to-day." 

"Perhaps  you  need  change  of  air,"  said  Crissey 


A   CRUCIAL   MOMENT  381 

once.  "When  we  get  to  Washington  you'll  be  all 
right." 

He  would  have  been  genuinely  worried,  but  she 
had  so  thoroughly  relieved  him  of  all  home  cares 
during  the  peaceful  years  that  he  had  lived  with 
her  that  he  unconsciously  applied  the  confidence 
which  she  inspired  in  him  even  to  her  own  case. 

Whenever,  in  their  early  years,  money  was  short, 
he  had  reflected,  "Dolly  will  manage  somehow." 

And  while  he  was  writing  his  great  book  on 
corporations,  or  was  throwing  himself  heart  and 
mind  into  some  difficult  case,  she  did  not  distract 
him  with  the  sicknesses  of  the  children  or  the  de- 
fections of  the  servants.  He  was  absolutely  sure 
that  there  was  a  wise,  brave,  true  little  woman  at 
home. 

If  Jim  took  the  measles,  or  if  Agnes  were  down 
with  the  whooping-cough,  Dolly  was  there ;  no  need 
for  him  to  go  blundering  around.  If  he  inquired, 
as  he  frequently  did,  concerning  any  embarrass- 
ment or  sickness  at  home,  he  was  always  given  the 
bravest,  most  cheerful  version  of  the  affair. 

So  he  threw  himself  into  his  life  work  with  an 
energy  that  fed  upon  success.  He  did  not  realize 
that  this  brave,  efficient  little  woman,  with  the  level 
gray  eyes,  had  a  heart  that  yearned  after  tender- 


382      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

ness  as  a  bursting  seed  after  the  sun,  and  a  mouth 
that  ached  for  true-love's  kisses  as  a  rosebud  for 
the  dew. 

A  man  who  is  writing  books,  trying  law  cases, 
and  dreaming  of  the  Senate,  perhaps  the  Presi- 
dency— do  not  even  whisper  it — has  not  time  to 
analyze  the  mysterious  and  contradictory  elements 
of  a  woman's  nature. 

Poor  Dolly  made  one  pitiful  effort  to  win  back 
her  husband's  youthful  love.  "How  can  he  love 
me,"  she  thought,  "if  I  allow  myself  to  grow  sad 
and  old  ?"  And  for  a  brief  time,  she  took  unusual 
pains  with  her  attire. 

There  was  no  reason  for  economy  now,  and  sKe 
ordered  several  handsome  street  gowns  and  a  new 
Kat  or  two.  She  made  a  study  of  dressing  her 
hair  in  the  most  becoming  manner ;  and  she  devoted 
much  thought  to  ribbons,  matching  them  against 
her  pale  cheek,  and  to  fresh  and  cheerful  shirt 
waists  for  house  wear.  She  even  purchased  an 
opera  cloak  and  had  made  for  herself  an  evening 
gown,  a  dainty  thing  of  silvery  white  peau  de  soie, 
with  a  little  pink  about  the  shoulders  and  finishing 
the  half-sleeves.  There  was  a  pink  velvet  bow,  too, 
in  front,  and  the  girdle  was  of  the  same  color  in  a 
soft  shade.  Such  a  robe  turns  a  woman's  clock 


A   CRUCIAL   MOMENT  383 

back  ten  years,  if  there  be  any  of  tKe  girl  left  in  her 
heart,  and  she  be  not  spoiled  by  too  much  luxury. 

This  she  tried  on  one  morning,  when  the  chil- 
dren were  away  at  school,  and,  going  down  into 
the  hall,  with  much  trepidation  lest  Lena  should 
catch  sight  of  her,  she  surveyed  herself  in  the  full- 
length  mirror  there  by  the  door.  She  thought  the 
dress  looked  too  young  for  her,  and  mounted  the 
stairs  again  mournfully.  She  folded  it  carefully 
and  put  it  away.  When  she  opened  the  drawer 
from  time  to  time  and  shook  out  its  rustling 
skirt,  it  did  not  seem  to  be  hers.  It  possessed  the 
melancholy  interest  of  a  robe  that  had  belonged  to 
a  dead  friend,  who  had  died  young  and  long  ago ; 
or  perhaps  to  a  sister  or  a  daughter  whom  she 
should  never  see  again. 

Edward  did  not  even  notice  the  street  dresses  and 
the  new  hats,  tKough  she  made  an  especial  effort 
to  catch  His  eye  with  them.  She  donned  them  un- 
fortunately in  the  busiest  and  most  exciting  days 
of  his  great  campaign. 

Of  what  use,  then,  to  appear  before  him  in  the 
evening  gown,  and  offer  to  accompany  him  to  some 
reception  ?  Clothes  made  no  difference  in  her  case. 
He  would  think  her  silly  in  her  old  age.  It  was  he 
and  not  she,  anyway,  that  people  wanted  to  see. 


384      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

She  must  not  lose  sight  of  that  fact.  He  was  a 
great  man,  she  but  a  dull,  plodding  woman.  And 
it  was  natural — oh  God ! — quite  natural,  that  beau- 
tiful and  accomplished  ladies  should  admire  him. 
At  any  rate,  she  would  not  give  them  the  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  her  discomfiture,  of  nodding  their 
heads  at  her,  and  of  whispering: 

"Do  you  see  that  stupid,  ugly  little  stick  there? 
That's  the  wife  of  the  famous  and  brilliant  Mr. 
Crissey." 

"Impossible !" 

"It  is,  though.  He  married  her  many  years  ago. 
And  he's  just  of  a  marriageable  age  now.  Think 
what  a  match  he  might  have  made  had  he  waited ! 
Any  woman  would  be  glad  to  take  him  now." 

Crissey  was  attired  in  evening  dress  on  the  night 
of  his  election  because  he  was  invited  to  attend  a 
fashionable  reception  at  the  Wilsons'.  His  full- 
fledged  reputation  as  an  orator  and  the  respectabil- 
ity of  his  support  would  have  made  him  a  social  lion, 
even  in  case  of  defeat. 

As  soon  as  decisive  returns  began  to  come  in, 
Mrs.  Wilson,  widely  awake  to  social  possibilities, 
telephoned  her  husband  to  make  sure  of  Crissey. 
TKe  reception  should  become  a  function  in  honor 
of  the  famous  orator,  the  new  member  of  Congress. 

The  genial  Wilson,  who  felt  a  great  personal  ad- 


A   CRUCIAL    MOMENT  385 

miration  for  Crissey,  went  over  to  the  latter's  office 
late  in  the  afternoon,  and  found  him  listening  to 
returns  which  his  secretary  was  calling  out  from 
time  to  time  from  the  telephone.  Wilson  stood  in 
the  door  for  a  moment,  pulling  his  red  mustache 
so  violently  that  he  somewhat  distorted  the  smile 
that  crept  over  his  face.  Then  he  removed  his 
gold  pince-nez,  closing  his  eyes  tightly  several  times 
and  opening  them  again  as  he  polished  the  glasses 
with  a  silk  handkerchief. 

"Sounds  all  right,  don't  it?"  he  asked  at  last. 
There  were  two  or  three  men  standing  about  Cris- 
sey, and  the  latter  had  not  noticed  the  famous  cor- 
poration counsel.  Crissey  whirled  around  and  ex- 
tended his  hand. 

"Ah,  Wilson,  how  are  you  ?  Yes,  I  think  we  can 
safely  say  now  that  all  doubts  are  removed." 

"I  called  to  congratulate  you,"  said  Wilson,  tak- 
ing the  extended  hand  in  both  of  his  own.  "I  can't 
tell  you  how  much  genuine  pleasure  this  gives  me. 
Like  all  good  citizens,  I  rejoice  that  the  right  man 
Has  won  out  for  once ;  and,  moreover,  I  take  a  per- 
sonal satisfaction  In  this  thing,  on  account  of  my — 
ah — friendship  for  you." 

It  is  hard  for  shrewd,  hard-headed  men  to  say 
these  things.  The  trouble  is  that  most  men  think 
themselves  less  sentimental  than  they  really  are. 


386      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"I  want  to  see  you  a  moment,"  he  added,  still 
holding  tHe  Hand.  A  couple  of  the  men  in  the 
office  turned  quickly  and  glanced  at  the  caller,  who 
laughed. 

"Have  no  fears,"  he  said,  as  Crissey  led  him 
toward  the  door  of  a  private  office.  "I  don't  want 
anything — of  an  official  nature." 

"Well,  I  just  wanted  to  speak  to  you,"  he  ex- 
plained, refusing  a  seat.  "My  wife  has  made  up 
her  mind  that  you  are  coming  to  Her  reception  to- 
night, and  that  settles  it.  She'll  have  you  tHere  if 
she  has  to  send  the  police  after  you.  I  simply 
wished  to  forewarn  you  of  your  fate,  that  you 
might  be  prepared  for  it.  Seriously,  we  should 
very  much  like  to  see  you  and  Mrs.  Crissey  there." 

"I  thank  Mrs.  Wilson  for  the  invitation/'  replied 
Crissey.  "I  will  make  an  effort  to  come.  I  think 
I  can  safely  promise  to  be  there;  about  Mrs.  Cris- 
sey I  am  not  so  sure.  She  is  not  feeling1  very  well 
these  days.  I  am  anxious  to  get  her  away.  I 
think  a  change  will  do  her  good." 

"Oh,  bring  her  along ;  it  will  do  Her  good  to  get 
out.  Oh,  by  the  way,  one  reason  for  Mrs.  Wilson's 
anxiety  to  secure  you  for  this  evening:  Senator 
Chapin's  wife,  of  your  old  town,  is  here,  and 
will  be  at  our  house  to-nigKt.  She's  quite  a  social 
leader  in  Washington,  and  will  go  bail  for  you  and 


A   CRUCIAL   MOMENT  387 

Mrs.  Crissey  there.  My  wife  is  great  on  these 
social  combinations.  She  enjoys  them  as  some 
women  do  match-making.  Do  you  know  the  sena- 
tor?" 

"I  remember  him  as  a  boy,"  replied  Crissey.  "I 
heard  him  make  a  Fourth  of  July  oration  once.  He 
has  a  nephew  here  in  town — Harry  Chapin — in  the 
real  estate  business.  Poor  Harry  isn't  doing  very 
well — a  sort  of  a  failure,  in  fact." 

As  Wilson  passed  out,  the  young  man  at  the 
'phone  was  shouting :  "Crissey,  three  thirty ;  Galla- 
gher, two  fifteen." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

"MY  CUP  RUNNETH  OVER" 

After  the  speecK  on  the  balcony,  Crissey  was 
kept  busy  for  a  couple  of  hours  receiving  congratu- 
lations from  leading  politicians,  and  calls  of  a  more 
troublesome  nature — from  persons  who  seized  the 
earliest  opportunity  to  emphasize  the  importance 
of  their  services. 

He  was  glad  of  an  excuse  to  break  away  from 
these  and  close  himself  in  a  cab  headed  for 
the  Wilsons'.  Dolly  was  not  going  with  him.  He 
had  asked  Her,  it  is  true,  telling  her  cheerfully  that 
she  might  as  well  get  into  practice  now,  as  she 
would  find  herself  in  a  perfect  social  whirl  as  soon 
as  they  got  to  Washington ;  but  she  pleaded  a  head- 
ache, due  to  excitement.  The  fact  of  tKe  matter 
is,  that  she  was  overwhelmed  by  the  noisy  proofs 
of  his  greatness — the  music,  the  shouting,  and  the 
eloquence  from  the  balcony.  She  was  fully  con- 
firmed, at  last,  in  her  idea  that  she  was  a  mere  clog 
tied  to  the  foot  of  a  demi-god,  a  melancholy  ghost 
of  his  cruel  past. 

388 


"MY   CUP   RUNNETH   OVER"      389 

"And  I  have  been  a  good  wife  to  you,  Edward," 
she  sobbed  in  the  loneliness  of  her  room.  "I  did 
help  you  in  those  days  when  we  were  poor  together. 
OK,  why  didn't  we  stay  poor  always?" 

She  was  tired,  very  tired,  for  the  day  Had  been 
one  of  great  excitement  to  her;  so  she  undressed, 
and  crept  into  bed  by  th'e  side  of  little  Dorothy,  who 
turned  over  without  waking  up,  and,  stretching  out 
one  tiny  hand,  laid  it  lovingly  upon  her  mother's 
face.  The  child  gave  a  deep  sigh  of  contentment 
as  she  felt  in  Her  dreams  that  dear  and  sure  pres- 
ence, and  her  tender  body  responded  again  to  the 
deep  breaths  of  happy  childhood,  rhythmical  waves 
upon  the  sea  of  sleep. 

Mrs.  Crissey  had  scarcely  pulled  the  blanket 
about  her  shoulders  when  the  telephone  bell  began 
to  ring  in  Edward's  study — that  insistent,  startling 
whir  which  generally  means  so  little,  but  which 
seems  to  say,  especially  if  it  be  heard  at  night,  that 
the  house  is  on  fire. 

She  slipped  out  of  the  bed  and  ran  to  the  telephone 
in  her  bare  feet,  anxious  to  get  there  and  take 
down  the  receiver  before  the  children  should 
awaken. 

"Yes,"  she  cried,  louder  than  necessary,  for  she 
never  could  get  over  tHe  idea  that  one  must  shout 
to  be  Heard  so  far— "hello  I  hello  1" 


390      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"Hello,  hello-o-o!"  replied  a  woman's  voice.  "Is 
this  the  residence  of  Mr.  Crissey — Mr.  Edward 
Crissey  ?" 

"Yes;  this  is  Mr.  Crissey's  house." 

"Is  he  in?" 

All  of  Dolly's  wits  were  on  the  qui  vive  on  the 
instant. 

"He  was  here  but  a  moment  ago,"  she  replied. 
"Is  there  any  message  I  can  deliver  to  him  ?" 

"I  would  like  to  know  merely  if  he  has  started 
for  the  Wilsons',  or  if  He  is  coming  here?  Mrs. 
Chapin  is  here  and  would  like  very  much  to  see  him. 
Tell  Mrs.  Crissey—" 

Dolly  dropped  the  receiver  as  though  it  had  been 
a  snake. 

"That  cat  again!"  she  whispered.  "That  shame- 
less creature !  Oh,  I  could  kill  her!" 

Then  she  snatched  the  receiver,  placed  it  to  her 
ear,  and  almost  shrieked: 

"What  did  you  say  to  tell  Mrs.  Crissey?" 

There  was  no  answer,  so  she  rang  the  bell  furi- 
ously, and  a  flat,  mechanical  voice  replied: 

"What  number,  please?" 

"What  ?    What  did  you  say  ?" 

"What  number,  please?" 

She  hung  the  receiver  up  again,  and  paced  the 
floor t  muttering: 


"MY   CUP   RUNNETH   OVER"      391 

"What  shall  I  do?    Oh,  what  shall  I  do?" 

And  at  last  she  decided.  Stamping  her  little  foot 
upon  the  floor  and  thrusting  out  her  square  chin, 
while  her  gray  eyes  turned  to  tempered  steel  in  the 
heat  of  her  rage,  she  decided. 

"I  will  go  where  my  husband  is,"  she  exclaimed. 
"I'll  go  where  lie  is,  and  never  let  him  out  of  my 
sight.  He's  mine,  he  belongs  to  me;  and  nobody 
shall  take  him  away  from  me  while  I  am  alive." 

She  glided  up  the  stairs,  a  pale  and  angry  ghost, 
and  arranged  her  hair  with  a  few  deft  touches.  She 
got  into' the  white  silk  dress,  she  hardly  knew  how, 
in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time,  wrapped  the 
opera  cloak  about  her,  threw  a  silk  scarf  over  her 
head,  and  stole  downstairs  and  into  the  street,  a 
white,  sweet,  fluffy  incarnation  of  tragedy.  She 
had  'formed  no  definite  idea  of  how  she  should  reach 
the  Wilsons'.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  walk. 
Modern  rapid  transit  is  not  at  all  suited  to  the  ela- 
tion of  old,  primeval  tragedy.  One  wants  to  get 
into  action,  to  have  his  muscles  feel  as  though  they 
were  taking  him  somewhere.  Riding  in  a  car,  even 
though  it  be  going  fifty  miles  an  hour  to  the  scene 
of  revenge  or  of  victory,  is  only  sitting  still,  after 
all. 

But  in  this  city  of  wide  distances  walking  is  sel- 
'dom  practicable,  even  when  assisted  by  the  wings  of 


392      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

jealousy.  Fortunately  for  Dolly,  an  empty  cab 
rumbled  up  from  behind,  and  the  driver,  pulling 
his  horse  to  the  curb,  asked  in  an  insinuating  voice : 

"Cab,  Madam;  cab?  Take  you  to  any  part  of 
the  city." 

"I  want  to  go  to  Mrs.  Frederick  Wilson's,  on 
State  Street,"  said  Dolly. 

"What  number?" 

"I  don't  know.  It's  a  big  house  near  Lincoln 
Park." 

"All  right.     Get  right  in ;  I'll  find  it." 

And  he  jumped  down  and  opened  the  door  for 
her. 

.  The  jehu  scratched  his  head  as  he  drove  off. 
Cabmen  see  many  strange  things  and  catch  glimpses 
of  numberless  romances  and  tragedies.  They  have 
their  night  patrons  divided  into  classes,  and  can 
tell  almost  at  a  glance  to  what  class  any  particular 
fare  belongs. 

But  here  was  something  decidedly  different. 
This  fare  was  not  a  demi-mondaine ;  neither  was  she 
drunk,  although  she  seemed  excited.  She  was 
dressed  like  a  regular  swell,  "the  real  thing,"  and 
she  had  even  given  the  address  of  one  of  the  most 
fashionable  houses  in  the  city.  But  why  was  she 
walking  ?  It  was  only  one  chance  in  a  thousand  that 
a  cab  had  passed  at  that  hour  in  that  locality.  This 


"MY   CUP   RUNNETH   OVER"       393 

one  had  been  taking  a  "gent"  home  from  the  Rock 
Island  depot,  who  had  wished  to  bring  his  trunk 
right  along  with  him  on  top  of  the  cab.  At  any 
rate  she  ought  to  be  good  for  a  "fiver." 

These  ruminations  occupied  his  mind  during  the 
entire  extent  of  the  course.  It  was  with  consid- 
erable curiosity  that  he  threw  open  the  door  of  his 
vehicle  at  last  and  peered  within,  saying: 

"Here  we  are,  Madam." 

Would  he  find  her  asleep  inside,  drunk,  after  all  ? 
Tony  "Backup,"  as  everybody  called  him,  a  hunch- 
backed confrere  of  his,  had  once  driven  a  mysteri- 
ous lady,  all  togged  out  like  that,  about  for  two 
hours,  and  had  found  her  dead  when  he  opened  the 
door — dead,  with  a  bottle  of  carbolic  acid  in  her 
hand. 

"Here  we  are,  Madam — "  Dolly  stepped  out  in 
front  of  the  great  stone  dry-goods  box  of  a  house, 
so  brilliantly  lighted,  and  made  briskly  for  the  front 
steps. 

"Shall  I  wait?"  called  the  cabman  anxiously. 

She  stopped,  slightly  embarrassed,  and  brought 
nearer  to  earth  than  at  any  moment  since  making 
her  heroic  resolve.  She  had  not  a  cent  with  her. 
Had  she  taken  a  street  car,  she  would  not  have  been 
able  to  paj;  her  fare. 


394      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

"Yes,  wait,"  she  replied.  In  reality,  she  did  not 
care  what  he  did. 

She  rang  and  the  door  opened.  The  jehu  was 
much  relieved  to  see  that  she  went  in  and  stayed  in. 

"She's  all  right,  after  all,"  Ke  muttered.  "That 
ought  to  be  worth  a  tenner,"  and  he  entered  his 
cab,  closed  the  door,  and  went  to  sleep. 

"First  door  at  the  right,  top  of  the  stairs,  for 
ladies'  wraps,"  said  a  gentlemanly  butler  with 
English  whiskers. 

Through  a  door  at  her  left  Dolly  saw  a  throng 
of  ladies  in  fashionable  attire.  A  few  of  them 
were  chattering  together,  but  nearly  all  were  facing 
one  way,  many  of  tKem  standing  on  tiptoe,  as 
though  listening  to  some  one.  At  the  end  of  the 
long  hall,  which  extended  beyond  the  wide  stair- 
case, another  door  was  ajar.  Voices  slipped 
through  the  opening,  men's  voices,  and  applause. 

SKe  Heard  her  husband's  name  called,  and  then 
the  familiar  cry: 

"Crissey,  Crissey;  speech,  speech!" 

There  was  nobody  in  the  hall,  and  she  tripped 
toward  the  door  without  taking  off  her  cloak. 
Standing  so  that  she  was  concealed  from  those 
within,  she  listened.  The  applause  broke  out  anew. 
She  removed  the  lace  scarf  and  peeped  within.  The 
air  was  a  blue  inferno  of  tobacco  smoke  in  that 


"MY   CUP   RUNNETH   OVER"       395 

room,  and  a  table  full  of  jolly  demons  in  evening 
dress  were  turned  expectantly  toward  a  man  who 
was  standing,  one  hand  resting  gracefully  on 
the  board,  while  a  gimlet  of  blue  smoke  trembled 
upward  from  the  cigar  which  he  held  between  two 
fingers  of  the  other.  It  was  her  husband. 

How  handsome  he  looked!  He  was  standing 
very  near  her,  and  she  drew  her  head  back  quickly 
lest  he  see  and  recognize  her. 

He  began  to  speak,  and  it  seemed  to  her  quite 
natural  that  his  voice  should  be  serious,  his  tones 
sympathetic  and  moving,  even  for  a  festive  occa- 
sion. 

"In  the  absence  of  Senator  Chapin,"  he  began, 
"you  have  asked  me  to  respond  to  the  toast,  The 
Ladies.'  I  can  not  help  feeling  that  this — ah — this 
appointment  is  somewhat  in  the  nature  of  a  joke, 
that  its  very  inappropriateness  gives  it  an  element 
of  humor  consonant  with  the  gaiety  of  this  occa- 
sion. Though  always  entertaining  the  profound- 
est  respect  for  the  sex,  I  have  never  been  a  ladies' 
man  in  the  general  acceptation  of  the  term.  I  can 
not  help  thinking  how  much  more  fitting  it  would 
have  been  had  the  senator  been  here  to  respond  to 
this  sentiment.  The  senator  is  a  handsome  man, 
a  courtly  man.  He  possesses  all  those  little  refine- 
ments of  fnanner  and  delicacies  of  address  which 


396      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

endear  a  man  to  the  sex.  Through  those  as  well 
as  through  his  sterling  worth,  he  won  in  early 
youth  the  hand  of  a  woman  who  has  been  chief 
ornament  of  his  brilliant  career,  the  bright  but  ten- 
der guiding  star  of  his  destiny."  The  congress- 
man was  perfectly  at  ease  now. 

"While  as  true  to  that  star  as  the  needle  to  the 
pole,  yet  He  has  necessarily  been  a  ladies'  favorite 
all  his  life.  Who  knows  how  many  sweet  flowers 
of  sentiment  may  have  yearned  toward  him  in 
secret,  upon  how  many  gentle  hearts  he  may,  un- 
wittingly, have  trod?  With  me  it  has  been  differ- 
ent. Not  possessing  the  senator's  brilliant  gifts,  I 
have  won  whatever  of  success  has  crowned  my 
career  by  stern  and  unremitting  toil.  The  ladies 
have  scarcely  taken  note  of  my  existence,  and,  I 
confess  it  with  shame,  I — ah — have  had  little  time 
to  cultivate  feminine  society.  I  say,  'with  shame,' 
for  every  man  is  better  and  completer  for  the  re- 
fined and  uplifting  influence  of  good  women.  He 
can  not  have  too  much  of  it.  But  I  can  not  let  this 
opportunity  pass  without  paying  public  tribute  to 
the  virtues  and  graces  of  two  noble  ladies — two 
sweet,  gracious  women  to  whom  I  owe  all  that  I 
am  or  hope  to  be.  It  is  fitting  that  I  should  pay 
this  tribute  on  the  evening  of  this,  my  first  really 
great  and  satisfying  success  in  life. 


"MY   CUP   RUNNETH   OVER"       397 

"My  mother  died  young — "  Here  the  speaker's 
voice  dropped  to  a  lower,  tenderer  note.  "But  one 
of  the  clearest  echoes  from  my  departed  youth",  call- 
ing me  back  to  those  days  of  innocence,  purity,  and 
simple  faith,  is  the  soft,  low  voice  of  my  mother. 
Oh,  sweetest  ghost  that  rises  from  the  past,  sad, 
tender,  reproachful  face,  that  makes  us  ashamed 
of  our  unworthiness !  Glorious,  saintlike  smile, 
that  blesses  us  when  we  do  not  forget ! 

"The  other  lady  to  whom  I  wish  to  pay  tribute 
to-night,  I  have  known  for  the  past  twenty  years. 
She  was  watering  roses  in  the  front  yard  of  her 
father's  house  when  I  first  saw  her.  She  looked 
up  at  me,  and  the  afternoon  sun  fell  upon  what 
seemed  to  me  then  the  fairest  face  in  the  whole, 
world.  She  was  dressed  -in  white,  I  remember,, 
with  a  wide  straw  hat  upon  Her  head  and  a  water- 
ing can  in  her  hand.  Gentlemen,  the  years  have 
added  some  wrinkles  to  that  face,  the  wand 
of  time  has  touched  those  brown  locks  with  gray; 
but  that  woman  is  fairer  this  minute  in  my  eyes  than 
on  the  day  when  I  married  her.  If  I  told  how 
much  she  has  helped  me,  how  much  she  has  done 
for  me,  I  should  weary  you  with  Ker  praises,  and 
the  sickly  gray  of  dawn  would  be  creeping  in  at 
the  windows  ere  I  had  done.  I  will  not  go  into 
the  details  of  our  early  life,  when  we.  occupied  two 


398      THE   LONG    STRAIGHT   ROAD 

little  rooms  in  a  farm  house  five  miles  from  a  coun- 
try village,  and  I  walked  the  whole  distance  twice 
a  day,  acting  as  court  stenographer,  and  studying 
law  evenings.  I  will  not  tell  you  how  she  did  her 
own  work  in  those  strenuous,  Kappy — always  happy 
days — mended  my  clothes,  cared  for  the  children, 
economized  somehow  so  that  we  always  got  along 
— but  I  am  telling  you.  Suffice  to  say,  that  without 
her  I  should  not  be  where  I  am  to-night;  for  the 
main  thing  she  has  given  has  been  some  part  of 
her  splendid  courage.  When  I  have  been  despond- 
ent, she  has  been  cheerful ;  when  I  have  been  afraid 
or  faint  by  the  way,  she  has  been  brave.  Her  un- 
failing faith  in  me,  even  when  unworthy,  has  given 
me  faith  in  myself.  Frail,  seemingly  weak,  some- 
times sick,  she  has  looked  down  the  years  with  level 
gray  eyes,  always  hopeful,  always  brave.  I  tell 
you,  gentlemen,  there  is  more  true  courage  in  the 
tender  heart  of  one  little  woman,  one  true  little 
woman,  than  in  the  breasts  of  a  dozen  of  the  great- 
est men  that  ever  lived. 

"And  such  a  woman  is  the  high  priestess  of  a 
man's  home.  She  makes  of  it  a  sacred  temple. 
Her  heart  is  a  swinging  censer,  and  she  fills  his 
house  with  the  wholesome  incense  of  wife-love, 
mother-love;  and  no  evil  spirits  dare  enter  therein. 

"Perhaps,  after  all,  I  am  not  so  unworthy  to  re- 


"MY   CUP   RUNNETH   OVER"       30,9 

spond  to  this  sentiment,  Tlie  Ladies !'  These  two 
women  that  I  have  known  have  made  me  hold  the 
entire  sex  in  reverence,  to  see  something  good  in 
the  worst  of  women. 

"May  I  ask  you  now  to  give  tribute  with  me  to 
Caesar?  It  may  seem  a  strange  thing  to  do, 
but  you  will  understand  it,  I  am  sure.  I  ask  you 
to  drink  to  the  good  health  of  Congressman  Dolly 
Crissey." 

"Please  let  me  out,"  whispered  Dolly  a  moment 
later  to  the  butler.  "I — I  want  to  go  home." 

"Leaving  so  early?"  inquired  a  well-modulated 
feminine  voice. 

Dolly  glanced  around,  and  saw  a  tiny  woman  in 
a  yellow  empire  gown,  with  a  bunch  of  black  velvet 
on  her  breast,  and  a  butterfly  of  diamonds  blazing 
in  her  hair.  An  aigrette  of  white  feathers  added 
to  Her  height.  Her  attitude  was  politely,  though 
keenly,  inquisitive. 

Dolly  felt  tKat  this  was  the  hostess,  and  that  she 
was  doing  a  most  unconventional  thing  in  stealing 
from  the  house  in  this  manner.  She  was  fairly 
caught  and  must  explain. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Crissey,"  she  said  frankly,  though 
greatly  agitated.  SKe  had  no  cause  to  be  ashamed 
of  her  name,  however.  "I  came  to  surprise  Mr. 
Crissey — to — to  show  him  my  new  gown,  and  I 


400      THE   LONG   STRAIGHT   ROAD 

overheard.  I — I — am  so  ashamed."  Mrs.  Wilson 
did  not  know  why  the  little  woman  should  be 
ashamed;  but  her  own  heart  had  been  strangely 
touched  by  the  speech  which  she  had  just  heard. 
She  gave  Dolly  an  impulsive  hug — a  quite  uncon- 
ventional fiug,  and  kissed  her. 

"You  dear!  I'll  let  you  run  away  now,  if  you 
want  to,  but  we  must  see  you  again  soon — we  must 
see  you  often.  James,  show  Mrs.  Crissey  to  her 
carriage.  Good  night,  dear." 

This  old  world  had  suddenly  grown  so  kind  to 
Dolly.  It  was  as  though  the  sun  had  just  slid  out 
from  an  eclipse.  Yet  sKe  could  not  help  sobbing 
as  she  threw  herself  back  into  a  corner  of  the  seat. 

"Why  couldn't  Ee  have  told  me!  OK,  why 
couldn't  he  have  told  me?" 

The  toasts  had  been  a  happy  idea  of  Mrs.  Wil- 
son's, always  fertile  in  surprises  for  her  guests. 
She  wished  to  let  Chicago  society  hear  the  famous 
orator  make  an  after-dinner,  speech.  Need  it  be 
said  that  her  scheme  had  met  with'  the  most  gratify- 
ing success? 

"I  saw  Mrs.  Crissey,  Fred,"  she  whispered  a  mo- 
ment later  to  her  husband.  "She  was  here,  and 
she  heard.  SKe'll  do.  She's  nicer  than  he  is,  if 
possible ;  and  he  meant  every  word  of  it." 

Five  minutes  after  making  his  speech  Crissey 


"MY   CUP   RUNNETH   OVER"      401 

bade  adieu  to  the  hostess  and  left  the  house.  He 
had  one  more  reception  to  attend  that  evening,  not 
far  from  his  own  home.  It  was  a  stag  party ;  and, 
remembering  the  theater  program,  he  determined 
to  stop  at  the  House  and  put  on  a  black  necktie. 
He  drove  fast,  and  arrived  but  a  moment  after 
Dolly.  The  hall  was  dark,  and  he  turned  on  the 
electric  light  witK  a  quick  snap  of  the  button. 

There  sKe  stood,  leaning  against  the  lower 
balustrade  of  the  stairway,  all  in  white  and  pink. 
Her  face,  flushed  with  mingled  shame  and  joy, 
looked  shyly  at  him  from  the  delicate  folds  of  the 
lace  scarf.  The  cloak  lay  in  a  ring  of  white  silk  and 
fluffy  fur  about  her  feet. 

And  suddenly  love  triumphed  over  shame ;  shame 
for  weakness  and  mistrust  which  he  should  never 
know. 

The  flush  of  a  whole  life's  triumph  mounted  to 
her  cheeks;  its  joy  sat  on  her  parted  lips.  The 
sunlight  and  moonlight  and  starlight  of  love  burned 
in  her  glorified  eyes  and  beckoned  him  like  a  beacon. 
He  strode  toward  her  with  arms  open. 

"Why,  Dolly,"  he  cried,  "how  young  you  look !" 


THE    END 


A  LIST  OF  RECENT  FICTION  OF 
THE  BOWEN-MERRILL  COMPANY 


//  is  fresh  and  spontaneous,  having  nothing  of 

that  wooden  quality  which  is  becoming 

associated   with    the    term 

"  historical  novel." 


HEARTS 
COURAGEOUS 

By  HALLIE  ERMINIE  RIVES 


"  Hearts  Courageous  "  is  made  of  new  material,  a  pic- 
turesque yet  delicate  style,  good  plot  and  very  dramatic 
situations.  The  best  in  the  book  are  the  defence  of  George 
Washington  by  the  Marquis  ;  the  duel  between  the  English 
officer  and  the  Marquis ;  and  Patrick  Henry  flinging  the 
brand  of  war  into  the  assembly  of  the  burgesses  of  Virginia. 
Williamsburg,  Virginia,  the  country  round  about,  and 
the  life  led  in  that  locality  just  before  the  Revolution,  form 
an  attractive  setting  for  the  action  of  the  story. 

With  six  illustrations  by  A.  B.  Wenzell 
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THE  GREAT  NOVEL  OF  THE  YEAR 

THE  MISSISSIPPI 
BUBBLE 

How  the  star  of  good  fortune  rose  and  set  and  rose 

again,  by  a  woman*  s  grace,  for  one 

John  Law,  of  Lauriston 

A  novel  by  EMERSON  HOUGH 


Emerson  Hough  has  written  one  of  the  best  novels  that  has 
come  out  of  America  in  many  a  day.  It  is  an  exciting  story, 
with  the  literary  touch  on  every  page. 

— JEANNETTE  L.  GILDER,  of  The  Critic. 

In  "The  Mississippi  Bubble"  Emerson  Hough  has  taken 
John  Law  and  certain  known  events  in  his  career,  and  about 
them  he  has  woven  a  web  of  romance  full  of  brilliant  coloring 
and  cunning  work.  It  proves  conclusively  that  Mr.  Hough 
is  a  novelist  of  no  ordinary  quality. — The  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

As  a  novel  embodying  a  wonderful  period  in  the  growth  of 
America  "The  Mississippi  Bubble"  is  of  intense  interest.  As 
a  love  story  it  is  rarely  and  beautifully  told.  John  Law,  as 
drawn  in  this  novel,  is  a  great  character,  cool,  debonair,  auda- 
cious, he  is  an  Admirable  Crichton  in  his  personality,  and  a 
Napoleon  in  his  far-reaching  wisdom. — The  Chicago  American. 

The  Illustrations  by  Henry  Hutt 
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A  NEW  NOTE   IN  FICTION. 

THE  STROLLERS 

By  FREDERIC  S.  ISHAM 


"  The  Strollers''  is  a  novel  of  much  merit. 

The  scenes  are  laid  in  that  picturesque  and  interesting 
period  of  American  life-the  last  of  the  stage  coach  days— 
the  days  of  the  strolling:  player. 

The  author,  Frederic  S.  Isham,  gives  a  delightful  and 
accurate  account  of  a  troop  of  players  making:  a  circuit  in 
the  wilderness  from  New  York  to  New  Orleans,  travelling  by 
stage,  carrying  one  wagon  load  of  scenery,  playing  in  town 
halls,  taverns,  barns  or  whatnot. 

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AN     INTERESTING     STORY     OF 
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THE 
FIGHTING  BISHOP 

By  HERBERT  M.  HOPKINS 


•  The  Fighting  Bishop  "  is  drawn  with  firm,  bold  strokes 
and  with  a  sufficiently  scholarly  atmosphere  to  make  the 
picture  life  like.  There  is  wisdom  too,  in  the  attitude  of  the 
author  toward  his  characters  ;  and  the  entire  atmosphere  of 
the  book  is  of  fine  quality.  The  general  accuracy  and 
vividness  of  the  portraiture  are  likely  to  impress  everyone. 
*  *  *  It  contains  passages  and  characterizations  that 
some  readers  will  find  it  difficult  to  forget.—  The  Hartford 
Courant. 

The  bishop's  musical  son,  Stephen's,  obstinate  vanity, 
his  irritable  nervous  nature,  his  impatience  of  advice  and  his 
wonderful  confidence  in  his  own  genius  are  admirably 
brought  out  in  the  course  of  the  narrative  and  the 
chapter  containing  his  letters  to  his  brother  is  one  of  the 
best  in  the  book.  It  shows  his  character  humorously  and 
without  exaggeration,  and  this  is  typical  of  the  whole  story. 
The  author  sees  his  personages  with  a  human  sympathic 
eye. — Ntw  York  Sun. 


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A  VIVID  WESTERN  STORY  OF  LOVE 
AND  POLITICS 


THE  1 3™  DISTRICT 

By  BRAND  WHITLOCK 


This  is  a  story  of  high  order.  By  its  scope  and  Strength 
it  deserves  to  be  spoken  of  as  a  novel — and  that  word  has 
been  very  much  abused  by  hanging  it  to  any  old  thing.  It 
is  a  wonderfully  good  and  interesting  account  of  the  workings 
of  politics  from  before  the  primaries  on  through  election, 
with  a  splendid  love  story  also  woven  into  it. 

One  would  think  for  instance,  that  it  would  be  impossible 
to  give  an  account  of  a  "  primary  "  and  keep  it  interesting; 
it  is  natural  to  suppose  a  writer  would  become  entangled  with 
the  dull  routine  of  it  all,  but  he  does  not,  he  makes  it  inter- 
esting. He  shows  the  tricks,  the  heat,  the  passion,  the 
tumult ;  the  weariness  and  stubborness  of  a  dead  lock.  The 
descriptions  of  society  life  in  the  book  are  equally  good. 

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"NOTHING   BUT    PRAISE" 

LAZARRE 

By  MARY  HARTWELL  CATHERWOOD 


Glorified  by  a  beautiful  love  story. — Chicago  Tritunt, 
We  feel  quite  justified  in  predicting  a  wide-spread  and 
prolonged  popularity  for  this  latest  comer  into  the  ranks  of 
historical  fiction.—  The  N.  V.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

After  all  the  material  for  the  story  had  been  collected  a 
3'ear  was  required  for  the  writing  of  it.  It  is  an  historical 
romance  of  the  better  sort,  with  stirring  situations,  good  bits 
of  character  drawing  and  a  satisfactory  knowledge  of  the 
tone  and  atmosphere  of  the  period  involved. — N.  Y.  Herald. 

Lazarre,  Is  no  less  a  person  than  the  Dauphin.  Louis 
XVII.  of  France,  and  a  right  royal  hero  he  makes.  A  prince 
who,  for  the  sake  oi  his  lady,  scorns  perils  in  two  hemis- 
pheres, facing  the  wrath  of  kings  in  Europe  and  the  bullets 
of  savages  in  America;  who  at  the  last  spurns  a  kingdom  that 
he  may  wed  her  freely— here  is  one  to  redeem  the  sins  of  even 
those  who  "never  learn  and  never  forget."— Philadelphia 
North  American, 

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"A  NOVEL  THAT'S  WORTH  WHILE" 

The  REDEMPTION 
of  DAVID  CORSON 

By  CHARLES  FREDERIC  GOSS 


A  Mid-century  American  Novel 
of  Intense  Power  and  Interest 


The  Interior  says  : 

"  This  is  a  book  that  is  worth  while.  Though  it  tells  of 
weakness  and  wickedness,  of  love  and  license,  of  revenge 
and  remorse  in  an  intensely  interesting  way,  yet  it  is  above 
all  else  a  clean  and  pure  story.  No  one  can  read  it  and 
honestly  ask  'what's  the  use.'  " 

Newell  Divigbt  Hi/Us,  Pastor  of  Plymouth  Cburcb,  Brooklyn, 

says : 
"  '  The  Redemption  of  David  Corson'  strikes  a  strong,  healthy, 

buoyant  note." 

Dr.  F.  W.  Gunsaulus,  President  Armour  Institute,  says  : 
"Mr.  Goss  writes  with  the  truthfulness  of  light.  He  has 
told  a  story  in  which  the  fact  of  sin  is  illuminated  with  the 
utmost  truthfulness  and  the  fact  of  redemption  is  portrayed 
with  extraordinary  power.  There  are  lines  of  greatness  in 
the  book  which  I  shall  never  forget." 

President  M.  ff.  Stryker,  Hamilton  College,  says  i 

"  It  is  a  victory  in  writing  for  one  whose  head  seems  at  last 

to  have  matched  his  big  human  heart.    There  is  ten  times 

as  much  of  reality  in  it  as  thare  is  in  '  David  Harum,'  which 

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THE  MERRIEST  NOVEL  OF  MANY, 
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MY  LADY  PEGGY 
GOES  TO  TOWN 

By  FRANCES  AYMAR  MATHEWS 

The  Daintiest  and   Most  Delightful  Book 
of  the  Season. 


A  heroine  almost  too  charming  to  be  true  is  Peggy,  and 
it  were  a  churlish  reader  who  is  not,  at  the  end  of  the  first 
chapter,  prostrate  before  her  red  slippers. —  Washington  Post. 

To  make  a  comparison  would  be  to  rank  "My  Lady 
Peggy"  with  "Monsieur  Beaucaire"  in  points  of  attraction, 
and  to  applaud  as  heartily  as  that  delicate  romance,  this 
picture  of  the  days  "  When  patches  nestled  o'er  sweet  lips 
at  chocolate  times." — N.  Y.  Mail  and  Express. 

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'AS  CRISP  AND  CLEAN  CUT 
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THE 
PUPPET    CROWN 

BY  HAROLD  MACGRATH 


A  princess  rarely  beautiful;  a  duchess  magnificent  and 
heartless;  a  villain  revengeful  and  courageous;  a  hero  youth- 
ful, humorous,  fearless  and  truly  American;— such  are  the 
principal  characters  of  this  delightful  story.— Syracuse  Post- 
Standard. 

Harold  MacGrath  has  attained  the  highest  point  achiev- 
able in  recent  fiction.  We  have  the  climax  of  romance  and 
adventure  in  "The  Puppet  Crown."  —  The  Philadelphia 
North  A  merican. 

Superior  to  most  of  the  great  successes.— St.  Paul  Pioneer 
Press. 

"The  Puppet  Crown"  is  a  profusion  of  cleverness. — Bal- 
timore A  tnerican, 

Challenges  comparison  with  authors  whose  names  have 
become  immortal — Chicago  American. 

Latest  entry  in  the  list  of  winners.— Cleveland  World. 

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AN    ADMIRABLE    SOCIAL  STUDY 

THE   FALL  OF 
THE  CURTAIN 

By  HAROLD   BEGBIE 


The  purpose  of  this  brilliant  story  of  modern  English 
life  is  to  show  that  a  human  being,  well  brought-up, 
carefully  trained  in  the  outward  observances  of  religion, 
with  a  keen  intellectual  perception  of  the  difference 
between  right  and  wrong,  may  still  not  have  goodness, 
and  that  ambition  may  easily  become  the  dominating 
force  in  such  a  character.  So  the  book  may  be  called  a 
purpose  novel,  but  in  reading  it,  one  no  more  thinks  of 
applying  so  discredited  an  epithet  to  it  than  one  would 
think  of  applying  it  to  "'Vanity  Fair." 

The  author  possesses  an  admirable  style,  clear, 
unaffected,  strong.  To  the  discriminating  public,  the 
book  is  certain  to  give  far  more  pleasure  than  that  public 
usually  gets  from  a  new  novel. 

With  a  Frontispiece  by  C.  Allan  Gilbert 

Cloth,    12   mo.      Ornamental,   $1.25    Net. 
Postage,  12  Cents 


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FULL  of  INCIDENT,  ACTION  fcf  COLOR 

LIKE 
ANOTHER  HELEN 

By  GEORGE  HORTON 


Mr.  Horton's  powerful  romance  stands  in  a  new  field  and 
brings  an  almost  unknown  world  in  reality  before  the  reader  — 
the  world  of  conflict  between  Greek  and  Turk. 

The  island  of  Crete  seems  real  and  genuine  after  reading 
this  book;  not  a  mere  spot  on  the  map.  The  tragic  and 
pathetic  troubles  of  this  people  are  told  with  sympathetic  force. 

Mr.  Horton  employs  a  vivid  style  that  keeps  the  interest 
alive  and  many  passages  are  filled  with  delicate  poetic  feeling. 

Things  happen  and  the  story  moves.  The  characters  are 
well  conceived  and  are  human  and  convincing.  Beyond  ques- 
tion Mr.  Horton's  fine  story  is  destined  to  take  high  rank  among 
the  books  of  the  day. 

With  illustrations  by  C.  M.  Relyea 

I  zmo,  Cloth  bound 

Price,  $1.50 

The  Chicago  Times-Herald  says  : 

"  Here  are  chapters  that  are  Stephen  Crane  plus  sympathy; 
chapters  of  illuminated  description  fragrant  with  the  at- 
mosphere of  art." 


The  Bowen- Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


"A  CHRONICLE  OF  MARVELS" 

THE  FIRST  MEN 
IN  THE  MOON 

By  H.  G.  WELLS 

Author  of  "The  War  of  the  Worlds"  and  "Tales  of  Time 
and  Space." 


Mr.  Wells  writes  to  entertain  and  in  this  tale  of  the 
invention  of  "  cavorite,"  and  the  subsequent  remarkable 
journey  made  to  the  moon  by  its  inventor,  he  has  succeeded 
beyond  measure  in  alternately  astounding,  convincing  and 
delighting  his  readers.  Told  in  a  straightforward  way,  with 
an  air  of  ingenuousness  that  disarms  doubt,  the  story 
chronicles  most  marvelous  discoveries  and  adventures  on 
the  mysterious  planet.  Mr.  Hering's  many  illustrations 
are  admirable.  Altogether  the  book  is  one  of  the  most 
original  and  entertaining  volumes  that  has  appeared  in 
many  a  day. 

Profusely  Illustrated  by  E.  Hering 
izmo.,  cloth,  $1.50 


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'AN  INDIANA  LOVE  STORY" 

ROSALYNDE'S 
LOVERS 

By  MAURICE  THOMPSON 
Author  of  "Alice  of  Old  Vincennes" 


As  Mr.  Thompson  avers,  this  is  "only  a  love  story," 
but  it  is  a  story  of  such  sweetness  and  wholesome  life 
that  it  will  at  once  claim  a  permanent  home  in  our  affections. 
The  love  of  nature,  so  prominent  a  characteristic  of  Mr. 
Thompson,  is  reflected  throughout  and  the  thunderstorm 
and  following  gleam  of  sun,  the  country  garden  and 
southern  lake  are  each  in  turn  invested  with  a  personality 
that  wins  our  instant  sympathy.  Rosalynde  Banderet  is 
winsome  and  artless,  her  lovers  are  human  and  manly, 
and  her  final  happiness  is  ours.  Mr.  Peirson's  many 
pictures  are  entirely  worthy. 

With  many  Illustrations  and  Decorations  by 
G.  Alden  Peirson 

Ornamental  ismo.    Cloth  Bound,  $1.50 


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ANOTHER  SUCCESSFUL  HISTORICAL 
NOVEL 

THE    BLACK 
WOLF'S    BREED 

By  HARRIS  DICKSON 


From  the  Boston  Globe  : 

"A  vigorous  tale  of  France  in  the  old  and  new  world  during 
the  reign  of  Louis  XIV." 

From  the  Philadelphia  Press  : 

"  As  delightfully  seductive  as  certain  mint-flavored  beverages 
they  make  down  South." 

From  the  Los  Angeles  Herald : 

"  The  sword-play  is  great,  even  finer  than  the  pictures  in 
«  To  Have  and  To  Hold.'  " 

From  the  San  Francisco  Chronicle : 

"  As  fine  a  piece  of  sustained  adventure  as  has  appeared  in 
recent  fiction." 

From  the  St.  Louis  Globe-Democrat : 
"There  is  action,  vivid  description  and  intensely  dramatic 


From  the  Indianapolis  News: 

"  So  full  offender  love-making,  of  gallant  fighting,  that  one 
regrets  it's  no  longer." 

Illustrated  by  C.  M.  Relyea.     Price  £1.50 


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"IN  LONDON  OF  LONG  AGO  " 

THE 
FICKLE  WHEEL 

By  HENRY  THEW  STEPHENSON 


In  this  tale  of  merry  England,  of  the  time  when 
Shakespeare  jested  and  Ben  Johnson  blustered,  Mr. 
Stephenson  has  painted  for  us  a  picture  informing  and 
above  all  entertaining.  His  is  not  a  story  of  counts 
and  crowns,  but  of  the  ever  interesting  common  people. 
Without  seeming  to  do  so  the  author  shows  us  many 
interesting  bits  of  the  life  of  the  day.  We  go  to  Paul's 
walk,  we  see  Shakespeare  play  at  the  Globe  theatre  and 
other  such  glimpses  of  old  time  London  are  deftly  added 
to  our  experiences.  Throughout  the  book  is  an  evanescent 
charm,  a  spirit  of  wholesome  gaiety.  It  is  well  worth  while. 

With  illustrations  by  C.  M.  Relyea 
Cloth,  Ornamental,  12  mo.     Price,  $1.50 


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A    FINE    STORY 
OF   THE    COWBOY    AT    HIS    BEST 


WITH 
HOOPS  of  STEEL 

By  FLORENCE  FINCH  KELLY 

"  The  friends  thou  bast,  and  their  adoption  tried, 
Grapple  them  to  thy  soul  with  hoops  of  steel" 


From  the  San  Francisco  Chronicle  : 

"Western  men  and  women  will  read  it  because  it  paints 
faithfully  the  life  which  they  know  so  well,  and  because  it 
gives  us  three  big,  manly  fellows,  fine  types  of  the  cowboy 
at  his  best.  Eastern  readers  will  be  attracted  by  its  splendid 
realism." 

From  Julian  Hawthorne  : 

"  For  my  own  part,  I  finished  it  all  in  one  day,  and  dreamt 
it  over  again  that  night.  And  I  am  an  old  hand,  heaven 
knows." 

From  the  Denver  Times! 

"Mrs.  Kelly's  characters  stand  out  from  the  background  of 
the  New  Mexican  plains,  desert  and  mountain  with  all  the 
distinctness  of  a  Remington  sketch." 

With  six  illustrations,  in  color,  by  Dan  Smith 
Price,  £1.50 


The  Bowen- Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


"  DIFFICULT  TO   FORGET  " 

A  FEARSOME 
RIDDLE 

By  MAX  EHRMAN 


This  mystery  story,  based  on  the  theory  of  the 
arithmetical  rhythm  of  time,  contains  much  of  the  same 
fascination  that  attaches  to  the  tales  of  Poe,  Simply 
told,  yet  dramatic  and  powerful  In  its  unique  conception, 
it  has  a  convincing  ring  that  is  most  impressive.  The 
reader  can  not  evade  a  haunting  conviction  that  this 
wonderful  experiment  must  in  reality  have  taken  place. 
Delightful  to  read,  difficult  to  forget,  the  book  roust  evoke 
a  wide  discussion. 

With  Pictures  by  Virginia  Keep 
12  mo.     Cloth,  $1.00 


The  Bowen-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A  NOVEL  OF  EARLY  NEW  YORK 

PATROON  VAN 
VOLKENBERG 

By  HENRY  THEW  STEPHENSON 

From  the  New  York  Press  ; 

"  Many  will  compare  '  Patroon  Van  Volkenberg,'  with  its 
dash,  style  and  virility,  with  'Richard  Carvel,'  and  in  that 
respect  they  will  be  right,  as  one  would  compare  the  strong, 
sturdy  and  spreading  elm  with  a  slender  sapling." 

The  action  of  this  stirring  story  begins  when  New  York 
was  a  little  city  of  less  than  5,000  inhabitants. 

The  Governor  has  forbidden  the  port  to  the  free  traders  or 
pirate  ships,  which  sailed  boldly  under  their  own  flag ;  while 
the  Patroon  and  his  merchant  colleagues  not  only  traded  openly 
with  the  buccaneers,  but  owned  and  managed  such  illicit  craft. 
The  story  of  the  clash  of  these  conflicting  interests  and  the 
resulting  exciting  happenings  is  absorbing. 

The  atmosphere  of  the  tale  is  fresh  in  fiction,  the  plot  is 
stirring  and  well  knit,  and  the  author  is  possessed  of  the  ability 
to  write  forceful,  fragrant  English. 

From  the  Brooklyn  Standard-  Union  : 

"  The  tale  is  one  of  vibrant  quality.  It  can  not  be  read  at  a 
leisurely  pace.  It  bears  the  reader  through  piratical  seas  and 
buccaneering  adventures,  through  storm  and  stress  of  many 
sorts,  but  it  lands  him  safely,  and  leads  him  to  peace." 

I2mo, 

Illustrated  in  color  by  C.  M.  Relyea 
Price,  $1.50 


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A  STORY  OF  THE   MORGAN   RAID, 
DURING  THE  WAR  of  the  REBELLION 


THE 
LEGIONARIES 

By  HENRY  SCOTT  CLARK 


The  Memphis  Commercial-Appeal  says  : 
"  The  backbone  of  the  story  is  Morgan's  great  raid  —  one  of 
the  most  romantic  and  reckless  pieces  of  adventure  ever 
attempted  in  the  history  of  the  world.  Mr.  Clark's  descrip- 
tion of  the  Ride  of  the  Three  Thousand  is  a  piece  of  litera- 
ture that  deserves  to  live  ;  and  is  as  fine  in  its  way  as  the 
,-;hariot  race  from  '  Ben  Hur."  " 

The  Cincinnati  Commercial-  Tribune  says  : 

"'The  Legionaries'  is  pervaded  with  what  seems  to  be  the 
true  spirit  of  artistic  impartiality.  The  author  is  simply 
a  narrator.  He  stands  aside,  regarding  with  equal  eye  all 
the  issues  involved  and  the  scales  dip  not  in  his  hands.  To 
sum  up,  the  first  romance  of  the  new  day  on  the  Ohio  is  an 
eminently  readable  one  —  a  good  yarn  well  spun. ' ' 

The  Rochester  Herald  says  s 

"The  appearance  of  a  new  novel  in  the  West  marks  an 
epoch  in  fiction  relating  to  the  war  between  the  sections  for 
the  preservation  of  the  Union.  '  The  Legionaries '  is  a 
remarkable  book,  and  we  can  scarcely  credit  the  assurance 
that  it  is  the  work  of  a  new  writer." 

1 2mo,  illustrated        Price,  $1.50 


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A   STORY   TOLD   BY  A   REAL  STORY- 
TELLER 


A    SON    OF 
AUSTERITY 

By  GEORGE  KNIGHT 


Mr.  Knight  has  created  a  real  atmosphere  for  his  men  and 
women  to  breathe,  and  his  men  and  women  take  deep  breaths. 
They  are  alive,  they  are  human,  they  are  real. 

He  has  a  delightful  story  to  tell  and  knows  how  to  tell 
it.  It  is  a  story  of  human  life,  of  possible  people  in  possible 
situations,  living  out  their  little  span  of  life  in  that  state  in 
which  it  has  pleased  God  to  call  them. 

The  reader  realizes  at  once  that  Mr.  Knight  is  a  man  who 
served  his  seven  years  of  apprenticeship  before  opening  a  shop 
on  his  own  account. 

The  deftness  and  charm  of  his  literary  style,  combined 
with  the  absorbing  interest  of  the  story,  can  not  but  prove  a 
delight  to  every  reader. 

With  a  frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher 
izmo,  Cloth.     Price,  $1.50 

The  LJ-verpool  Mercury  says  : 

"  This  is  a  book  far  removed  from  the  ordinary  mass  of  fea- 
tureless fiction.  There  is  no  gainsaying  the  strength  of 
characterization  and  the  command  of  English  language." 


The  Bo  wen- Merrill  Company,   Indianapolis 


VIGOROUS,  ELEMENTAL,  DRAMATIC 

A   HEART 
OF  FLAME 

The  story  of  a  Master  Passion 

BY  CHARLES  FLEMING  EMBREE 

Author  of  "  A  Dream  of  a  Throne." 


The  men  and  women  in  this  story  are  children  of  the 
soil.  Their  strength  is  iu  their  nearness  to  nature.  Their 
minds  are  vigorous,  their  bodies  powerful,  their  passions 
elemental,  their  courage  sublime.  They  are  loyal  in  friend- 
ship, persistent  in  enmity,  determined  in  purpose. 

The  story  is  a  story  of  great  wrongs  and  of  supreme  love. 
It  is  done  in  black  and  white,  with  few  strokes,  but  they  are 
masterly.  The  shadows  at  the  back  are  somber  but  the 
value  of  contrast  is  appreciated  for  the  vivid  high  light  in 
the  foreground. 

It  is  a  work  of  art— powerful  convincing  and  abiding. 
Powerful,  because  true  to  life;  convincing,  for  it  has  the 
saving  touch  of  humor;  and  abiding  because  love,  Hke  "A 
Heart  of  Flame,"  prevails  in  the  end. 

With  illustrations  by  Dan  Smith 
i2mo.  clothc    Price,  $1.50. 


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THE   STORY  OF  AN  AMERICAN 
CRUCIFIXION 


THE 
PENITENTES 

By  LOUIS  HOW 


The  Chicago  Record  says : 

"  To  describe  the  customs  of  this  band  of  intensely  religious 
people,  to  retain  all  the  color  and  picturesqueness  of  the 
original  scene  without  excess,  was  the  difficult  task  which 
Mr.  How  has  done  well." 

The  Brooklyn  Eagle  says  : 

"  The  author  has  been  fortunate  enough  to  unearth  a  colossal 
American  tragedy." 

The  Chicago  Tribune  says  : 

"'The  Penitentes'  abounds  in  dramatic  possibilities.  It  is 
full  of  action,  warm  color  and  variety.  The  denouement 
at  the  little  church  of  San  Rafael,  when  the  soldiers  sur- 
prise the  Penitentes  at  mass  in  the  early  dawn  of  their  fets 
day,  will  appeal  strongly  to  the  dramatizer." 

The  Interior  says : 

"  Mr.  How  has  done  a  truly  remarkable  piece  of  work  *  *  * 
any  hand,  however  practiced,  might  well  be  proud  of  the 
marvelously  good  descriptions,  the  dramatic,  highly  unusual 
story,  the  able  characterizations." 

izmo,  Cloth,  Ornamental 
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THE   SUBTLE   SPIRIT  OF  THE   SEA 

SWEEPERS 
OF  THE  SEA 

The  Story  of  a  Strange  Navy 
By  CLAUDE  H.  WETMORE 


From  the  St.  Louis  Mirror : 

"The  recital  of  the  deeds  of  the  'Sweepers  of  the  Sea'  is  a 
breathless  one.  The  romance  is  heightened  by  the  realism 
of  the  technique  of  naval  warfare,  by  the  sureness  and 
voluminosity  of  nautical  knowledge." 

From  the  Buffalo  Re-view  : 

"  It  rivals  Stevenson  in  its  ingenuity  of  plot  and  dramatic 
interest." 

From  the  Albany  Journal: 

"  There  rings  the  exultant  note  of  tossing  billows  and  a 
crashing  ship." 

From  the  Minneapolis  Times : 

11  Mr.  Wetmore  has  the  genius  of  Jules  Verne  and  can  make 
the  improbable  seem  the  actual.  In  fact,  '  Sweepers  of 
the  Sea'  comes  into  the  class  of  important  fiction,  and  as 
such  will  be  received  and  read  by  a  discriminating  public." 


Illustrated         Price,  $1.50 


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